


The Lines You Amend

by harriet_vane



Series: Forever, Now [7]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 80,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harriet_vane/pseuds/harriet_vane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody knows it sucks to grow up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't post this fic anywhere else, please don't distribute it anywhere, please don't put it on goodreads, and really really please don't link it to anyone being written about here. Thanks!

  
**Graduation**

The sun beat down hot as hell on the back of Brian's neck. He took his baseball cap off with one hand and wiped his forehead with the other.

"Gross," said Gerard.

Brian glared. Gerard was wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt and a black hoodie, and pretending really hard that he wasn't sweating to death, too. "Shut up," said Brian, "or I'll wipe it on you."

"You wouldn't," Gerard said, but he took a step away.

The line shuffled forward a couple of people. "You look like a vampire, you know," said Brian after a minute. "Or like you're allergic to sunlight."

Gerard glared. "I like black," he said.

Mikey looked up from texting on his phone long enough to roll his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "You're so emo without Frank. He'll be over bronchitis in like a week, he's not _dead_."

"Shut up," Gerard replied. "I'm not being emo about Frank. I'm..." He made a little flapping gesture with his hands that made Brian frown. Gerard had been weird around Frank for a couple of weeks. "Anyway, the music department graduation was enough. Why do they have to have another one?"

Sweat was rolling down Brian's back and it felt totally disgusting. "So parents feel like they got their money's worth," said Brian. He tapped his hand against his thigh and tried not to sigh. He wasn't old enough to be the impatient guy in line. "Has Brendon said anything to you about after graduation? He won't fucking talk to me." Brian felt more than a little pathetic, relying on Mikey to tell him what was going on with Brendon, but Brendon had been weird the last few months.

Mikey shrugged. Gerard grabbed the phone out of his hands. "Hey," Mikey protested, "I was using that."

"How many times a day can you possibly text Pete?" Gerard said impatiently. "You're not that interesting."

"Your face isn't that interesting," Mikey said darkly.

Gerard stared at the phone for a second. "You're texting Pete's _girlfriend_?" he said. "Holy shit. Mikey, does Pete know?"

"I think Alicia told him, yeah," said Mikey, snatching the phone back. "Since they're going out and everything."

"Mikey, hitting on your friend's girl is uncool," Gerard counseled seriously.

"I'm not hitting on Alicia," Mikey scoffed. "She sent me a picture of her cat. I'm just being polite."

Brian stepped between them. They were still about a dozen people away from entrance to the football stadium and the sun was making him grumpy. "Brendon," Brian said loudly. "Your babysitter. His graduation. Remember?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you," Mikey said. He started to text and Gerard reached around Brian for the phone again. Mikey put it defensively in his pocket and glared.

"What? Why not?" Brian had offered Brendon a full-time job at the office, and Brendon had reacted by getting super squirrely and calling in sick for three days. Brian was still trying to figure that out.

"If I told you that, I'd be telling the other thing," Mikey said patiently. "Gee, soda."

Gerard handed over his Coke and crossed his arms. "We don't tell you everything, Brian," he said.

Brian knew that. It drove him fucking nuts, even though he hadn't called his mother about anything more important than holiday plans until Gerard and Mikey had shown up. Still, this was supposed to be different. Brian was a _cool_ dad. He got it. He worked with bands. He understood teenagers. The fact that his were all acting like crazy people was so _frustrating_.

"You tell me all the important stuff, though, right?" Brian asked.

Mikey and Gerard exchanged a look. The line shuffled forward another couple of people. "Um," said Mikey. "Sure."

"What the fuck?" Brian demanded. "You'd better be. What do you mean—"

"C'mon," Gerard interrupted. "It's just ... We're grownups. So we don't come running to you for every little thing. We're not little kids anymore."

The urge to yell 'you _are_ kids, you'll _always_ be kids' was overwhelming. Brian tapped his foot impatiently and stifled it with a grumpy noise. The line shuffled forward.

"I don't want to be here," Gerard complained.

"We're here for Brendon," said Brian.

Gerard just shook his head and muttered, "I wish Frank were here."

Brian handed their tickets over to bored-looking students and herded the boys through the gate. The stadium was already filled with parents and the school marching band, and on the ground were rows and rows of folding chairs and a few thousand graduates in blue robes milling around. "I don't see Brendon," said Gerard.

"Duh," said Mikey. "There's ten thousand people and he's short."

"Well, I do see Ryan," said Brian, pointing. "C'mon."

It was really hot to be climbing stairs in the sun. Gerard got slower and slower until Brian was actually shoving him and dragging Mikey. "Guys," said Brian. "Hurry the fuck up. This is going to start before we get there." Gerard made a hugely huffy, put-upon noise and started stomping, but at least he was moving again. By the time they got up to their seats Brian's t-shirt was stuck to his back and even Gerard had taken off his hood.

Ryan scooted over to make room. He was wearing a fluttery scarf despite the weather. Ryan was sitting next to Jon, who was wearing a Cubs hat and looked hot and miserable. Brian liked Jon a lot anyway, but he liked him more for being a normal person who sweated. Brian wanted a beer as big as his head.

"You met Spencer's family at the music department graduation, right?" Ryan asked politely. Brian had actually chatted with the Smiths for a while earlier; Ryan had apparently been adopted by Spencer's family the way Brian had taken in Brendon. Spencer's mother hugged Ryan like it was totally normal to do so, which was almost the only time Brian had seen Ryan voluntarily hug anyone.

Spencer's sisters were having a fight over the last sip of their extra-large soda. They were also poking Ryan in the back and nodding at Jon and bursting into giggles every few minutes. Ryan rolled his eyes patiently and pretended to ignore them.

Spencer's mother hugged Brian and would have hugged Gerard and Mikey if they'd looked even remotely open to it. Spencer's father nodded and grunted, wiping sweat off his face. "We're so glad you're here," she said.

"This is never going to start," Jon complained. "I'm going to melt in to a puddle and die."

Mikey was already texting on Brian's other side. Gerard got the adoring look on his face he always had when he got to hang out with Ryan and Jon and Spencer. He craned his neck to look over Ryan's shoulder at the book he had with him. "What's that?" Gerard asked.

"Kurt Cobain's diary," said Ryan. "You want to see?" He handed it over with a little smile at Jon.

"What's up, Mikey Way?" Jon asked, looking over Mikey's shoulder at his phone. "Ooooh. Girlfriend?"

"Yeah, but not his," said Gerard, flipping through the book. "Pete's."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you were a player," he said.

Mikey frowned a little. "It's not _like_ that," he said. "Pete's my friend. Alicia's my friend, too. I'm not... Shut up."

Jon was man enough not to laugh. "Sounds complicated," he said instead, and flashed Ryan a quick grin. Then he got busy taking out his camera and working with its enormous zoom lens.

Gerard squinted down at the football field. "They're starting, I think," he said.

"Dude," said Jon, snapping a couple of shots. "You think they're selling beer?"

"I wish," Brian said.

"This is a wholesome family event," Gerard said piously, looking through Ryan's book. "You two would just get drunk and crash the field."

Jon looked thoughtful. "Did you just dare me to streak graduation?"

Gerard's head jerked up. "What? No! I... Oh, you're messing with me. Shut up." He punched Jon in the arm.

"Because I will. If you make the bet worth my while."

"Spencer would enjoy it," said Ryan, deadpan.

"And it would definitely make graduation memorable," Brian agreed.

"Shut _up_ ," Gerard repeated, turning red.

On the football field the marching band started playing the national anthem. Brian wanted to pay attention, he honestly did, but the sun was right in his face and it was so hot outside, and from where they were sitting he could barely make out the speeches. He spent a lot of time staring at the crowd of graduates trying to pick out Spencer and Brendon, but the students were too tiny to tell apart.

It was weird that they were going to be old enough to go out and do things on their own, and it was even weirder, Brian thought, that he'd only ever known them as college students. It certainly felt like he'd known them for longer. He was self-aware enough to recognize that his dread of Brendon's graduation was actual dread of Gerard's, next year, but that didn't make him any less uncomfortable.

"I'm bored," Mikey said.

Gerard had been reading for at least three-quarters of the ceremony. "That's because it's boring. When I graduate you guys can skip it. I don't care. This kind of stuff is lame."

"It's important to Brendon and Spencer," said Brian.

Jon snorted. "If it were important to them they wouldn't have been up all night partying with the music department," he said. "I'll bet you a million dollars Brendon is asleep down there right now."

"No bet," said one of the twins. Crystal? "Spencer was so tired this morning he couldn't remember what his phone number was."

"It's important," Ryan said suddenly. Brian looked at him, surprised. "It's like... I don't know. You only get one. And even if it's stupid, what if no one goes? What if no one cares about you enough to be bored for an hour for you? Somebody has to take stupid pictures and buy you flowers and give you presents you don't want, and..." He trailed off, shrugging uncomfortably. "I mean. That's what I think."

Jon put an arm around Ryan's shoulders and didn't say anything. Gerard looked intensely curious, but after a quick look at Brian's expression he closed his mouth and shrugged, going back to his book. Spencer's mother, who had been listening, turned around to pet Ryan fondly on the knee and smile. Had they, Brian wondered, gone to Ryan's high school graduation? Had anyone?

"I got a bunch of pictures," Jon said instead. "Brendon playing for the department. Spencer getting the Presidential Honors award. Spencer punching Brendon for playing 'chopsticks' during the ceremony. Brendon hugging the head of the department."

"Blackmail material," Brian said. "Good."

"I do what I can," Jon agreed.

"Is it over yet?" Mikey grumbled.

Gerard looked up from his book long enough to squint at the field. "I think... I think the guy who's speaking is still speaking. You know what I mean. I definitely don't want you guys to suffer through my graduation next year. Maybe I'll just drop out."

Brian glared. "Fuck, no. You're graduating. We're going. And I'm going to videotape it."

Gerard rolled his eyes and went back to his book. The graduation freak-outs were getting worse, and he still had a year to go. Brian wasn't excited to see what he'd be like by December.

The Smiths started clapping, which Brian assumed meant the speech was finally over. "I think that's it," Jon said. "Thank god."

"We're meeting them by the D stairs," Ryan said. "For pictures. And then we're going to Brian's house for a party, and then Spence and Jon are taking you guys to the airport. And—"

"Ryan," said Jon, "you don't need to make an itinerary, okay? Today is about just hanging out and celebrating."

"Spencer made the list, I'm just reading it—"

Jon held up his hands menacingly. "Swear to god, Ross, if you don't chill I'm going to tickle you here in front of the entire stadium." On the field the graduates threw their caps in the air and everyone began applauding.

Ryan paused in mid-complaint. "I want it to be good," he said finally.

"Oh, honey," said Spencer's mother, and squeezed his knee again.

"Down the stairs!" Brian announced, pulling Gerard and Mikey up. The rest of the dazed and sunburned parents in the stadium were trying to file out, too.

Everyone got up except Gerard. "We should just wait for everyone else to leave first," he complained. "I don't want to shove through. What if someone falls and gets hurt? They should have an emergency evacuation plan." Mikey kicked him impatiently in the shin until he stood up and handed the book back to Ryan. They all pushed their way through the crowd and down the stairs, with Spencer's sisters arguing quietly over who got to give him his graduation present first, and who was going to sit by the window on the plane, and Spencer's mother pinching Ryan's arm and asking him about how much and how often he ate.

Gerard shoved his hands in his pockets and looked thoughtful, which Brian usually mistrusted. "What?" Brian asked.

Gerard shrugged. "Just," he said. "I'm going to college. In a couple of years, I mean."

Brian's stomach lurched. He was going to have to talk to his mother about what parents did when their kids started leaving. "Yeah," he agreed.

"It's just... It's weird."

Brian nodded. "It doesn't have to be like this," he offered. "It can be somewhere small. Somewhere near home."

"I was thinking about art school. Mr. Madison was talking to me about that a little bit."

Brian was totally fine with Gerard being an unemployable artist for the rest of his life, if that was what made him happy. "Okay," he said. "I think we're supposed to tour schools and stuff. When you find some you like, let me know."

"But what if... Never mind. Hey, I see Brendon. Brendon!" Gerard waved and shoved past a bunch of people on the stairs, disappearing in to the crowd.

"Where?" Mikey scowled. "I don't see them, and I'm taller than he is." Mikey liked adding 'I'm taller than he is' to all kinds of unrelated sentences. He had been taller than Gerard for almost six months now, and he was still pretty excited about it.

Brian squinted. "I don't know. He's—Oh, there's Spencer. Thank god one of them is tall enough to see." Brian pointed. Spencer had grown a beard in the last couple of months, and Brian couldn't decide if that was an unfortunate decision or not. On the one hand, Spencer no longer looked so much like a girl. On the other hand, he occasionally looked like a girl with a beard.

Spencer had already peeled off his blue robe. Brendon was still wearing his. "Oh my god," said Brian. "Did he _bedazzle_ that?"

Ryan tried not to laugh, but he couldn't quite stifle it in time. "Yeah," he said. "That was his big stress project last week." He managed to be affectionate and mocking in the same breath.

"Oh my _god_ ," Brian said again. "It's so... Shiny."

Spencer and Brendon seemed to be arguing about something. They both looked exhausted and grumpy; Spencer had his arms crossed and Brendon kept stamping his foot. They stopped and tried to look happy when they saw everyone else coming over. Jon wove his fingers through Spencer's and gave him a quick kiss that made Spencer blush and duck away because his sisters were right there, and they immediately cooed, "Oooooh!" Spencer's parents hugged both boys and ruffled their hair, while Crystal and Jackie muttered under their breath about Jon being too hot for their brother. They were happy to hug Brendon, though.

Brendon didn't pause at all before throwing himself at Ryan. Then he hugged Mikey and Brian and Gerard, wildly enthusiastically and a little more physically reckless than usual. Brian suspected that Brendon was going to fall asleep in the car on the way home and nap through most of the party; he looked totally wrecked and there were terrible dark circles under his eyes.

"Congratulations," Brian said.

"I'm just," said Brendon. "I wouldn't have ever. You know? And I _did_ , and I can't thank you enough, but I just... God, Brian." He hugged Brian again. His breath smelled a little bit like day-old beer.

Brian nodded. "Sure," he said. "No problem."

Brendon grinned. "Crazy, right?" he said, and then Spencer's mother pulled him away for more hugging and pictures.

"I don't want people at my graduation," Gerard said. "No people, and no pictures."

"Good luck with that," Brian replied. "It's not actually about you. It's about the people who are there to celebrate you. I plan to take _millions_ of pictures."

Gerard huffed. Spencer's parents ordered all four of the older boys to stand together for pictures. Spencer was arguing under his breath with Brendon again, while Ryan shook his head and stared at his shoes. Jon was the only one who smiled politely for the camera. It was going to make for a strange photograph.

"Okay," said Mrs. Smith. "Now Brian and Gerard and Mikey and Brendon."

That was an even weirder picture; Mikey was trying to text with one hand and not get caught, while Gerard alternated every few seconds between acting too cool to participate and wanting to be the center of attention. Brendon leaned tiredly on Brian. They couldn't manage to all look in the same direction at the same time long enough for the photographs.

After a few rounds of shuffling to get all possible picture permutations, Spencer put his foot down. He looked tired and grumpy and increasingly impatient. "I'm riding back with my folks," he announced. "Brendon needs to talk to Brian. Can we go already?"

"No, I don't," said Brendon, sounding a lot like this was the seventh time through a fight.

"Yes, you do," Spencer snapped.

"No, I—Ryan, back me up."

Ryan looked uncomfortable and shrugged. "You know what I think," he said quietly.

Jon said, "This bus is leaving. I can take Mikey and Gerard, too, Brendon, if you want to talk to Brian on your own."

"I _don't_."

"Cool!" said Gerard immediately.

Brian looked at Mikey. If anyone knew what the hell was going on it would be Mikey. Mikey looked at his phone for a second, and then up at Brian and nodded. "We'll go with Jon," he said.

So something was definitely up. "Right," said Brian. "Meet you back there."

"You all suck," Brendon complained loudly. Jon snagged Ryan and pulled him away toward the parking lot, with Mikey and Gerard tagging along after. Spencer hustled his family off, too, after one final stern look in Brendon's direction.

Brendon fidgeted for a minute. "This is stupid," he complained. "I really don't want to do this."

Brian was dying of curiosity, but he just nodded and fished his keys out of his pocket. Brendon was much easier to break down than Gerard or Mikey, so Brian was sure he'd know what was up by the time they got back to his house.

In fact, by the time they got to the parking lot, which was a gridlock of epic proportions, Brendon was fidgeting and pulling sparkles off his robe. "Um," he said, as Brian unlocked the door. "So I. Spencer and I need a favor."

The inside of the car felt like an oven. Brian turned on the AC and didn't get in, since they weren't going to be able to get out of the lot any time soon anyway. Brian leaned on the top of the car and tried not to burn his arms. "A favor, huh?" he said. "Hit me."

Brendon fidgeted some more. "It's about Ryan," he said.

Brian knew if he waited long enough Brendon would start making sense, so he unstuck his t-shirt from his sweaty back and looked over Brendon's head at the traffic, calculating how long they would have to wait to get through the fucking 'no left turn' intersection.

"I kind of... I need to borrow him for a little while."

Brian frowned, but Brendon was busy shrugging out of his robe and not looking up. "Borrow him from who?" Brian asked. "From me?"

"Yeah," said Brendon. He was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, which meant Spencer had picked out his clothes. "Just for a couple of weeks."

"I'm not totally following you here," said Brian.

Brendon squinted up at the sky for a second and then looked back at his sneakers. "So. Um. We wrote some songs," he said.

That much Brian knew from talking to Ryan and Mikey. He nodded.

"We had a guitar player but he sucked, and I can't play guitar and piano and sing all at once in every song, so Ryan's been doing it. He's really good. He wrote most of our lyrics, too." Brendon looked up, like Brian might challenge Ryan's talent.

"Sure," said Brian.

"The thing is..." Brendon bit his lip and ducked his head, and took a deep breath. "The thing is, we booked some shows. Spencer booked them, I mean. And they're in New York and Boston over the summer, so we need Ryan to come with us, so I need to borrow him for a couple of weeks, and I know you're busy, but come on, he doesn't say it much, but he totally wants this as much as we do, only he doesn't want to disappoint you and—"

Brian cut him off before Brendon could pass out from lack of oxygen. "How many shows?" he asked.

"Five. See, Jon knows the guys in this band called Tartarus, and they asked if we'd open, and we were like, totally, and—"

Brian interrupted, "I get the idea." If any of them were going to keep track of dates and money and be generally business-like, obviously it would be Spencer. Brian couldn't quite stop himself from adding, "Why didn't you ask me?" He sounded the tiniest bit hurt, because he _was_ ; this was what he fucking did for a _living_ , and Brendon could have come to him any time. Brendon was supposed to know that. Fuck, so was Ryan. Brian tried really hard not to let the sting show on his face.

Brendon bounced on his toes. "I'm trying to be grown up. We didn't want... I didn't... Not just because it was _me_."

"Say it again, in English this time, please?" Brian said impatiently.

"You work with all these amazing bands and I knew if I asked you'd book us, too, but... I wanted it to be something we _earned_ , not just something we got because you felt sorry for me. Not that you do. You did, though. Maybe you still do? I wanted... Brian. Come on. You know what I mean, right?"

Brian counted to ten in his head, and then ten again just in case. "Yeah," he said, trying not to snap. "I know what you mean."

"So that's why. Spencer thinks I'm an idiot, but I really... You're _mad_. Brian! Come on. It totally makes sense." Brendon pouted.

Brian got in the car, which was finally cool, and after a second so did Brendon. Brian crossed his arms and stared at the dashboard for a minute or two. "I'm not mad," he said finally. "I'm... It's complicated. I get what you're saying, I just disagree with it a lot. And for the record, I have never felt sorry for you. You don't feel sorry for Gerard and Mikey, right? Knock that shit off, please."

"Sorry," Brendon mumbled. He was only down for a second, though, before he looked up hopefully. "But you'll let us borrow Ryan?"

"There's a condition."

"Oh. Uh. Sure!"

Brian crept forward in to traffic. "You can have Ryan for as long as you need, that's totally fine. But from now on I get to handle all the bookings and tour management for you guys."

"Brian!" Brendon spluttered. "Did you just miss the part where I explained why we don't want that?"

" _You_ don't want that," Brian corrected. "It's not the same thing."

"Right, but—"

"So now is my turn to explain. Shut up." He waited until Brendon had stopped flailing and settled down in to his seat, looking mildly grumpy. "Spencer's smart and responsible and will do his best, I'm sure. But he's just a kid. And you don't know ... There are a lot of shitty promoters and people who want to fuck you over or take advantage of you. That's not even getting in to the people who—" He couldn't quite bring himself to talk about what would happen to nice, smart, pretty kids like Brendon and Ryan in some of the clubs Brian had visited. Spencer wouldn't be able to stop that from happening. Fuck, for all Spencer was the tallest, he wasn't scary enough, either. They all needed babysitters. Brian had some people in mind.

"Right," said Brendon. "But—"

Brian honked at a guy who tried to cut them off. They were never going to get out of the stupid parking lot. "That's the deal," he said. "If you want Ryan, I get to represent you."

"Brian! That's not—" Brendon visibly stopped himself from yelling 'that's not fair.' "I can't agree to that," he said after a minute. "It's not just my band."

Brian nodded. He suspected Spencer and Jon would jump for joy, and Ryan would at least be reasonable. "So ask when we get to the party," he said. "Take a vote."

"You're trying to blackmail me," Brendon complained.

 _I am trying to protect you,_ Brian thought, and felt the familiar flash of anger that Brendon's actual parents weren't around to do it. "Yup," said Brian. "Whatever works."

Brendon lapsed in to grumpy silence. He stared out the window for a few minutes while they waited for the traffic jam to clear up. Brian counted to a hundred a few more times until he felt like he could talk about the whole thing without getting worked up again.

"I'll ask them," said Brendon finally, as if that was a huge concession. "What if they don't want to?"

Since Brian was completely sure that wasn't going to be a problem, he shrugged. "Then we'll renegotiate," he said.

Brendon made an unhappy noise, and then suddenly perked up again. "Gabe says you're going out with someone."

Brian was a grown up, he was absolutely not blushing or embarrassed about this. At all. Really. "Yeah," he said, not looking at Brendon. "A friend of Bill's. But we're not... I think I'm too old to 'go out with' anyone."

"Awwwww," Brendon said, delighted. "That's so _cute_! Is she nice? Is she pretty? What does she do? Has she met Gerard and Mikey? How does Bill know her? What's—"

"Brendon," said Brian. "Chill."

Brendon just looked expectantly at him.

Brian sighed. "She's pretty, yes. She's nice. She loves kids, can't wait to meet them. She works with Bill at the hospital. But it's only been a couple of dates and... I haven't been on a real date in like, years, so I don't really know how this goes."

"What about what's-her-name, Nancy?" asked Brendon. "You were hooking up with her for a while."

Brian almost hit the car ahead of them. "I never told you about that," he said.

Brendon rolled his eyes. " _Duh_. You didn't tell any of us about that. But you met her at Bill's wedding, and then you two spent that weekend away. She was _hot_."

"I'm not... _Jesus_ , Brendon." Brian was blushing, but it wasn't his fault; the entire point of a secret fling was that it was a secret. Brian wasn't ashamed of it, exactly, but he wasn't crowing about it, either. "We're not talking about this anymore," said Brian firmly.

"When do we get to meet this one?" Brendon asked, bouncing a little.

 _When hell freezes over_ , Brian thought. Brendon, luckily, was the most distractible person Brian knew. "If you're taking Ryan for the band, I need to hire someone else," Brian said.

"You need to hire someone anyway," Brendon agreed. "You're fucking _swamped_. Mikey and Gerard have been making jokes about not remembering what you look like."

Brian winced. "Great," he said. "Fuck. Okay, we'll start looking through resumes tomorrow." He paused. "Or we could hire you full-time—"

"No," said Brendon immediately. "I'm not... I mean, thanks. But no. I can't." He stared at his hands in his lap.

Brian considered how weird Brendon got every time Brian brought it up. "I thought you'd jump at the chance to work with Ryan," he said slowly. "But that's not it, right? It's the band thing."

Brendon fidgeted and put his window down, then up again, then down again. The AC was still on, so Brian smacked his hand away from the control and put it up.

"I... I went to college, I did the responsible thing," said Brendon. "I can't... I don't _want_ to be responsible about this. I want to play music. If I have a job I might _never_ be able to."

Brian nodded. "Okay," he said. "Fair enough."

Brendon looked at him sideways. "That's it?" he asked quietly. "No lecture?"

"It's not like you're flying to LA and auditioning for American Idol, or dropping out of high school. You've got shows booked. You're a grown up, you get to decide what you want to do. And if it doesn't work out, you can always be my errand boy some more." Brian paused. "I think it will, though. You're really fucking talented, and you have the drive. I think it's the right decision."

Brendon stared at him for a few seconds, and then he threw himself at Brian, which was awkward while Brian was steering. Brendon put his arms around Brian's neck and clung. Brian chalked it up to high emotions about graduation. After a minute Brendon sat back in his seat and adjusted his seatbelt and his shirt until he was breathing normally again, while Brian concentrated on driving and pretended not to notice.

Brian spent the rest of the drive figuring out which tours and which tour managers he'd trust with Brendon and Ryan. He was pretty sure they'd charm any band they traveled with, but different bands had different reputations, and he wasn't going to drop them on anyone who thought tours were just an excuse to be drunk in every state. Plus, he needed to know what they sounded like so he could find a good compliment. He wasn't going to fuck around with this, because he was sure they'd be successful given half a chance.

Brendon was half-asleep against the window, but he yawned himself awake when they pulled up in front of the house. "I'll ask," he said, rubbing his eyes. "But it's totally blackmail. I just want that clear."

Brian nodded and turned the car off. "Right," he said. "Noted. I think they started the party without you." The front door was open and Brian could see streamers and people in party hats.

"That's ridiculous," Brendon scoffed. "The party can't start without me. I _am_ the party."

That was true most days, but not so much today. Brian gave him an hour, tops, before he was conked out upstairs on one of the kid's beds.

"Ask them," Brian ordered, as firmly as he could manage with Brendon, and followed him in to the house.

Gerard had gone a little crazy with decorations in the living room, so there were streamers and tinsel and balloons everywhere. Most of them were black, and he'd horded them since Thanksgiving. There were bowls of food everywhere, and the radio was blasting Bon Jovi, which probably meant Gerard had picked it out.

Ryan and Jon and Spencer were sitting on the couch, fighting over a brownie. There was an entire plateful of brownies in front of them, but that didn't stop them from elbowing each other trying to get the one Spencer was successfully holding over his head out of their reach. Gerard was slumped in a chair, drawing. Mikey was in the kitchen, supervising the cooking, with Jeanne and Spencer's parents. Spencer's sisters were sitting on the stairs, watching Jon and Spencer and Ryan and whispering and nudging each other. Everyone was wearing party hats, which Brian thought was pretty cute.

"Spencer Smith, you have to share," said Brendon sternly, and climbed in to the pile of boys without apparent regard for his own safety. Spencer and Ryan scooted to one side and Brendon ended up sitting half on Spencer and half on Jon, which gave Jon the reach to get Spencer's brownie. "Hungry," said Brendon, reaching for a handful of crackers and almost elbowing Jon in the stomach.

"Ahem," said Brian, in what he hoped was a remind tone, not a nagging tone. It was hard to tell, and he was sure he got it wrong about half the time.

Brendon sighed and slumped against the couch, and also Spencer. "I need to ask you all something," he said reluctantly, and Brian took that as his cue to go in to the kitchen and give him some space.

The kitchen was full; Jeanne had somehow pried the Sidekick out of Mikey's hands and gotten him to make punch, mixing ginger ale and juice. "—absolutely unbelievable," Jeanne was saying. "First I was never going to have grandchildren, and now I have a houseful. Brian, don't just stand there, make yourself useful." She handed him the cake and a knife and pointed at the cutting board. "And every one's cuter than the next, although I'm partial to some." She didn't look over, but Mikey smiled to himself.

"We were so grateful to have someone looking after Spencer on this coast," said Mrs. Smith. "I still don't know what possessed him to go to the other side of the country. Honestly, he could have gone to school and lived with us, it would have been so much cheaper."

"He was never going to do that," said Mr. Smith mildly. "And now he's not coming home, because the boys are starting a band."

"Ha!" said Jeanne, slicing up vegetables. No one was going to eat those, Brian thought, except the adults. Recent college graduates had no interest in vitamins or nutrients. "I'd say that's Brian, being a bad influence again, but they've been talking about this for years." She waggled her knife at Brian.

Brian said, "They've booked some shows. Brendon told me in the car on the way home."

"And you're going to look after them," Jeanne ordered. "Imagine those babies out on their own."

"Do you think it's a good idea?" Mr. Smith asked, helping himself to some snacks.

"They'll be fine," his wife said firmly. "They're good boys. I'm sure they're wonderful musicians. And they'll have Brian. Won't they?"

Brian recognized the threat after years with his mother. "I just got done telling Brendon that," he said. "Everything's under control."

"I've been meaning to hug you all day," said Mrs. Smith suddenly. "Imagine Brendon out here with no family. I could just _hit_ someone." Her expression made it pretty clear who she'd like to hit, and also that Spencer was definitely her son. "You're wonderful, Brian, taking in all these kids."

"I didn't take them in," said Brian awkwardly. "I just... They showed up and I didn't kick anyone out." It was always so fucking hard to explain this to people, that 'adopted kids' didn't mean he was some kind of saint. He still lived in mild terror of someone overhearing him hollering at Gerard for his shitty attitude or trying to get Mikey to do his homework. If he'd been the martyr everyone kept mistaking him for, he wouldn't have lost his temper with the boys nearly as much. He certainly would have found a better way to balance work and home life.

Mr. Smith said, "The little ones, sure, but college students? They're so annoying."

"They babysit for practically free," said Brian. "That's all I care about."

"Living room!" Jeanne ordered, picking up her tray of vegetables and nudging Mikey toward the door. They all paraded back out, and Mrs. Smith stopped to give Brian an affectionate smile. He didn't feel entirely like he'd earned it, but he appreciated it.

The pile on the couch had gotten pile-ier somehow, with Brendon sitting totally on Spencer and Spencer sitting mostly on Jon, and Ryan leaning on Spencer enough that Spencer couldn't actually move his arm. "Brian!" said Jon happily when he walked in. "Are you seriously serious? Fucking _awesome_."

Brendon might have looked mildly resentful for half a second, but then he looked at Ryan, who was as close to beaming as Ryan ever got, and he settled in to somewhere between resigned and delighted. It was weird how Brendon could hit a midway point there.

"In other words," Spencer clarified from somewhere underneath Brendon, "We will one hundred percent take you up on your more-than-generous offer."

"I kind of figured," Brian agreed.

"You don't have to," said Ryan.

Spencer elbowed him in the stomach. "Yes he fucking does, and no take backs," said Spencer firmly. "Jesus, Ryan."

"I just—"

"We would have needed help with contracts and shit anyway," said Spencer. "I could have faked it, maybe, but I don't really know what to look out for." He was dangerously close to sounding both serious and unhappy, which was apparently Jon's cue to hook his chin over Spencer's shoulder and nudge Spencer's cheek with his nose. Spencer tried to ignore it for a minute, and then gave up and started laughing. "Plus," he said, "It's kind of hard to do business stuff with these idiots around. Jon, stop that. _Stop_."

"We are not idiots," said Brendon. "Anyway, we voted."

"Cool," said Brian. He planned to gloat a lot later.

. "So maybe tomorrow or this weekend, when you guys are done celebrating graduation, we can all sit down and start working some shit out?"

"Sure," said Brendon. "If you're not too busy dating your hot nurse."

There should have been a record-scratching sound effect. Gerard threw his marker down and Mikey dropped a bowl of chips. "Again?" said Gerard. "Seriously? Brian?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck. "You knew about her," Brian said weakly.

"Yeah, but usually you just date them and dump them, like whatshername, who worked at the club."

Brian had been completely sure none of them knew about that particular fling. "This isn't like that," he spluttered. "This is... Susan's nice."

Gerard looked at Mikey, and then they both looked at Brendon, and then all three of them shook their heads a little bit. "Sure," said Brendon, in his too-perky voice. "So we get to meet her and stuff, right? Vet her for you? Make sure she's not weird or creepy or whatever?" He stopped, mostly because Jon was squeezing his arm.

"No," said Brian, and then, "Maybe. Hey, we're all here to celebrate your graduation. Who wants cake?"

Brendon cheered, and then yawned and tried unsuccessfully to hide it. Brian downgraded him to asleep in twenty minutes. Jeanne went back in and came out with the mildly terrifying cake that had a photograph of Brendon and Spencer in frosting on top. It would have been more appetizing if cake-Spencer hadn't looked so annoyed.

Later, after Jon had taken hundreds of pictures with two different cameras, and Spencer had smushed cake all over his sisters, and Ryan had dragged Brendon upstairs because he'd dozed off on the couch, Spencer's family dragged him and Jon off to the airport, and the house emptied out. Brian found himself sitting on the front steps with Gerard, who was sketching vampires in what was supposed to be his math notebook.

"Good party," said Brian, and yawned. Clean up was going to take hours, and Jeanne had flatly announced she wasn't doing it, and left. Mikey was upstairs texting again. Brian thought grumpily that Brendon was probably too old now to be bribed in to cleaning his house for him.

Gerard just shrugged.

"Wasn't it?" Brian added after a minute. "Yo, Gerard. Hello? Party?"

Gerard put his notebook down and looked up at him. "It was fine," he said flatly. "I guess."

Brian shook his head. Spencer's parents probably never had problems like these. "At least you're not on the roof," he sighed. He never got tired of bringing that up, although it made Gerard grumpy.

"I just," said Gerard, looking a little upset. "Brendon's all graduated. I'm graduating this year. I don't like it. I don't like parties that remind me of it." He pulled his hood up and tightened the pull-strings.

"Senior year can be kind of scary," Brian agreed cautiously. "But you have the advantage of having watched Brendon flip out for the past few months. You know what to expect. Plus, it's also pretty awesome. You're growing up and stuff."

Gerard glowered and kicked his sneakers against the steps. "I don't want things to be different," he said. "Things are fine."

"Maybe things will get better."

"Maybe things will get worse."

They stared at each other for a minute. Brian was pretty sure he couldn't win this particular argument. "Things are going to change no matter what we do," said Brian finally. "That's just... That's the way the world is."

"Well, the world is stupid, then," said Gerard, and stormed inside.

Brian sighed and nodded and wondered how the next year was going to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summer**

August was the most boring month ever, in Gerard's opinion. It was way too early to start school work—the time for that was in September, the day before school started up—and it was way too late to still be enjoying sleeping until 2 or 3 every afternoon. Ray and Bob were off at music camp all summer, so if Frank and Brendon weren't around, there was nothing to do all day except sit around. And Brendon definitely wasn't around this summer, while Frank... Frank was complicated.

Whenever Gerard ended up sitting around staring in to space he started _thinking_ about _stuff_ , and that was the last thing he wanted. He had to find ways to amuse himself. First he tried bothering Mikey, but Mikey had gotten pretty immune to him in the past fifteen years, so that was mostly a waste of time. He couldn't bother Brendon, because Brendon was in Boston playing shows with his band.

He could go bug Brian, but only if he went in to Brian's work, because with Brendon and Ryan both out of town Brian was working about twenty hours a day. Gerard put a notebook and some pens in his bag and caught the bus. The nice thing about being a senior was that Brian had given up on trying to tell him where he could and couldn't go.

The bad thing about being a senior, as far as Gerard could see, was everything else.

He was trying not to be melodramatic about it, he honestly was, but he couldn't figure out why people kept coming up to him and telling him how excited he must be. Because he wasn't. All senior year meant was he was going to have to find somewhere new to go, and seriously, it had taken four years to get used to _this_ place. Next year he was supposed to go away from Mikey and Brian and Brendon and Frank—Frank was complicated—and he saw absolutely nothing positive about that at all.

Gerard recognized that, okay, maybe he was a little worked up. But every time he started thinking about going back to school in September he thought about graduating in May, and then he thought about leaving, and then his heart would race and he had to think about something else. Comic books were a pretty good distraction, but he'd read everything that had come out this month and his entire back-collection of the X-Men twice. Music was a good distraction, too, but without Brendon or Ryan around to talk to, it wasn't much fun. So he was left with nothing to think about except graduation, and every time he started thinking about that he felt like he was going to throw up.

Brian's office was an awesome distraction, as it turned out, because Brian's office was in total chaos. The whole front part was buried in piles and piles of papers and he could hear Gabe hollering in the back, either singing along with the most atonal music in the world—Pavement, maybe?—or else creating his own religious chants.

"God, shut _up!_ " Brian yelled and slammed the door of his office.

"Never!" Gabe yelled back, and slammed his own door.

There was someone standing in the hallway between their doors. She was clutching a huge pile of papers and looking incredibly frazzled. It was pretty much the first time Gerard had ever seen a woman in Brian's office, and for a second he was baffled—it wasn't Susan, at least—but then he remembered that Brian had finally hired someone new. He'd been trying not to think about anyone replacing Brendon and Ryan, so Gerard hadn't listened that carefully. Now that he considered, though, the name had been 'Greta,' which was definitely a girl's name.

She wasn't scary-looking, at least. She was short, maybe even shorter than Brian, with long wavy red-blond hair and a little dress and sweater that looked grandma-ish, but in a cute way. She made a pouty face for just a second, looking despairingly at Brian's door, and then saw Gerard, and smiled. "Hi," she said. "You must be Gerard. Brian has a hundred pictures of you in his office."

"Hey," said Gerard, simultaneously flattered and annoyed. It was cool that Brian was always putting up more pictures of him and Mikey, but it was also really lame. He hunched his shoulders up around his ears. "You're the new person, right?"

She sighed a little. "Yeah," she said. "I'm Greta. I'd totally shake your hand, but—" She shrugged as well as she could with her arms full of papers.

"No problem," said Gerard. He didn't really like shaking hands so much. She looked a little lost, so he added, "They yell like that a lot. Don't let it get to you."

"Oh, good," she said, dumping the pile of papers on top of another pile of papers. "I just... They're kind of too busy yelling to tell me what they actually want me to do, and the person whose job I'm actually doing is away and can't be reached, and I... I can't even figure out how the _phones_ work."

"You mean Ryan?" Gerard asked. "Yeah, the band is touring. They'll be back next week."

Greta looked around at the front room, which was drowning in papers. "How mad is he going to be that I'm reorganizing his whole system? It makes no sense. I can't find anything."

Gerard considered. "Not that mad, probably," he said. "Ryan's not a really organized person, and neither is Gabe. I think their filing system was more like, 'Put it down wherever, make Brendon find it later.'"

"Brendon," said Greta. "I've seen his picture too, right?"

"Brian's a big sentimental goofball," said Gerard, trying not to sound happy. "Don't worry about it. No one's organized anything here in years, I don't think. It took Brian months to even get around to hiring anyone. You, I mean."

She put her hands on her hips. She didn't really look old enough to be taking over Ryan's job, Gerard thought. Not that Ryan was that old, and he'd been doing it forever, but Brian had talked a lot about hiring someone responsible and organized because they needed someone like that. And it wasn't like Ryan and Brendon were never coming back, they were coming back next week. It was just another example of _things being different_ , so Gerard was against it in theory. In practice, though, Greta seemed basically okay. She hadn't tried to hug him yet, so she got points over Susan.

"This is ridiculous," said Greta, blowing a puff of air to get her hair out of her face. "I'm going to be doing this for hours." The phone rang. She turned toward the main desk—Brendon's desk—with a mix of apprehension and despair.

Usually Gerard would have stuck his hands in his pockets and bitched later to Mikey about how people were so incompetent, but he'd just decided Greta was kind of okay, and it wasn't her fault that no one was around to help. "I got it," he said, grabbing the phone.

It was just someone calling to let Brian know that their tour venue had been changed, and would he clear it however it needed to be cleared? Gerard wrote it down and then transferred the call to Brian—he'd spent enough time hanging out with Brendon to know how everything worked around the office—and when he turned back Greta was looking at him totally adoringly.

"You," she said, "are awesome. Did anyone ever tell you that? You are _awesome_. Can you show me how that works?"

Gerard wasn't going to blush just because some girl told him he was awesome. He had pride and stuff. "It's star-eight for your office," he said. "Star-four for Brian. Star-six for Gabe. No one knows what happens if you hit an odd number. Brendon has some theories. Mostly about the FBI tapping the phones, but y'know. Brendon." He shrugged.

"Got it," said Greta. She smiled at him again—not that he cared—and sat down in the middle of the floor and started moving folders and piles around, muttering things to herself. Gerard watched her, mildy fascinated, as she started undoing years of Ryan and Gabe's madness.

It took him a few minutes to figure out what she was doing. "You're not just alphabetizing," said Gerard abruptly. "You're... Are you sorting it?"

Greta looked up. "I have a list of which band is primarily repped by whom," she said. "That side of the room is Ryan's, this side is Gabe's, and Brian's are over there. Then I'm sorting them chronologically, actually, by the most recent contact with the band. Alphabetizing is going in the computers. I can't believe no one's made a real database yet."

"There's kind of one," Gerard offered. "I think Brendon started it last year."

"I saw," Greta said. "It's got barely half the clients in it, and most of the information is a year old. Hasn't anyone been _updating_ it?"

"Uh," said Gerard. "No?"

Greta made an annoyed noise and went back to sorting her piles.

When Brendon and Ryan got back, Gerard reflected, they would either be ecstatic about the new system or they'd be really, really mad. Assuming they came back, of course, which they might not if the band was like, a _thing_ now. Gerard didn't like the idea of anyone replacing either of them, but Greta seemed... The nicest Gerard could manage was "okay," but that was better than he'd expected.

It didn't look like Greta was going to do anything else interesting, so Gerard grabbed his bag and wandered in to Brian's office. Brian was on the computer. Gerard threw himself into the chair and waited.

Eventually Brian looked up. "Ngh," he said, which meant he was super busy. "What?"

"Greta's organizing your office," said Gerard. "She's making lots of piles."

"Good," said Brian, "That's why we hired her."

Gerard considered that for a second. "I thought maybe you hired her because she's hot," he said.

Brian's face went astonishingly red. "What?" he said. "No! I... I have Susan."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "I meant the _bands_ will think she's hot, you dork. You have a _girlfriend_." He couldn't quite keep the sneer out of his voice.

"Oh. I knew that." Brian looked at his computer.

Gerard and Frank had discussed pretty extensively how dating seemed to make people dumber. "I think it's illegal for you to hire people based on if they're hot or not, isn't it?" Gerard asked. "That's sexual harassment."

"It's only illegal if I hire her over someone more qualified based on her hotness," said Brian absently, "and she was the most qualified candidate by far. She used to be in a band, too."

She was even cooler than Gerard had suspected. "So you _do_ think she's hot?"

Brian snorted. "I have a girlfriend. Therefore I have no opinions on anyone else's hotness. Speaking of which, Susan's coming over for dinner tomorrow."

Brendon had made him promise to be nice, so Gerard just bit his lip. "Okay," he said.

"You'll all warm up to each other," Brian said, and it was half an order and half a request. "Just... Give her a little while. She's really nice."

Susan was totally nice, and it made Gerard feel guilty for disliking her so much. "Sure," he said.

"I'm serious, Gerard—"

"I said sure!" Gerard snapped. "It's fine, okay?"

"It's obviously not," Brian snapped right back. "I don't know what your problem is, but—"

"I don't have a problem," Gerard muttered. He wished Brendon were back. Brendon had promised he was going to talk to Brian about the whole thing, and Brendon was a lot more articulate when he was upset than Gerard could ever manage.

Brian sighed. He sounded sad, which killed Gerard. Gerard just wasn't very good at pretending he was happy when he wasn't. "Listen," said Brian, "I know it's... Different. You guys are still my priority, okay, and if she really upsets you that much—"

"No," said Gerard quickly, "She's fine. Susan's nice, you're right, I'm just..." He floundered for a minute. "I don't like things being different, and she's different." That was true, it just skipped nicely over all the other stuff he didn't like about Susan, because he didn't know how to say any of that without really upsetting Brian. Brendon would have to handle it later.

"Oh," said Brian. He nodded. "Okay, well... We can deal with that. What about Mikey?"

Mikey had announced his intention to set Susan on fire next time they met; Brendon had extorted a promise to behave, but Gerard wasn't convinced even Brendon's magical Mikey powers were going to keep him civil. "Mikey... Mikey doesn't like new people," said Gerard, which was true, but also not the problem.

"Can you talk to him?"

Gerard fidgeted. He could, but it wasn't like Mikey listened to him anymore, either. Mikey had his own drama, and now that he was in high school he'd basically announced that he was too smart to need Brian or Gerard. "Brendon could," said Gerard.

"Brendon's busy," said Brian. "They get back for a show on Sunday. You guys want to go, right?"

"Of course," said Gerard, because that was a stupid question. "Can Frank and Ray and Bob come, too?" Ray and Bob were getting back on Saturday, and Gerard honest-to-god couldn't _wait_. Then he'd have someone less complicated than Frank to talk to, even if there was no way he could talk to either of them _about_ Frank.

"I'll see if there's room on the guest list," said Brian dryly. "Did you come out here for anything in particular, or just to bug me?"

"To bug you, mostly," said Gerard.

Brian rolled his eyes. "Why don't you go bug Frank?" he asked.

Frank was complicated. "I dunno," said Gerard, looking at his sneakers.

"What does that mean? Is Frank sick or something?"

"No," said Gerard. He slumped in the big chair and picked at imaginary fluff on his knee. Brian waited, but Gerard wasn't saying anything else.

"You don't want to talk to Frank?" Brian asked incredulously.

"I don't _not_ want to talk to Frank," said Gerard.

"Well then... Is this a thing that I should call Brendon about?"

"No." Gerard was pretty sure Brendon couldn't help. The thing about being old and mature like Gerard had become, was there were all these stupid complications to everything.

Brian massaged his temples. "Okay, fine," he said. "You can't just _tell_ me?"

English was severely deficient when it came to explaining all of the complications in the Frank Situation. "No," said Gerard. "Sorry. It's no big, anyway. Just, stuff."

"You have to promise me this isn't a roof scenario."

Gerard would have paid Brian a million dollars to never bring up that stupid Thanksgiving again. It had turned in to a _story_ , one of those things he brought up all the time like it was cute, when really it was just a stupid, embarrassing thing Gerard had done as a kid. "It's not," Gerard said crossly. "It's seriously nothing, you don't have to worry." Brian was still looking at him, so Gerard grabbed his bag. He'd come down to be distracted from his problems—graduation, Frank—not to hear more about them.

"On your way out, tell Greta I need to talk to her," said Brian. "And don't forget that Susan's coming by tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay," Gerard sighed. Being a responsible adult sucked sometimes. He wished he were still fourteen, so he could throw a giant screaming fit at Brian.

Even more, he wished he were still fourteen so that Brian would know everything about everything. Brian had seemed amazingly smart for a long time, and it had come as a shock to Gerard to realize belatedly that there were all kinds of things Brian was bad at. Like relationships. Gerard had just assumed that Brian was good at those because he was a grownup, and grownups dated and got married and had kids.

At some point, though, Mikey had snorted and said, "Brian doesn't date," and although Gerard didn't think that was entirely true, it was sort of true. And now there was _Susan_ , and that was way worse than worrying about Brian being lonely. If Susan was Brian's idea of a lifemate then he was definitely as clueless as Gerard, and there was no point in asking him anything.

"Gerard. If something's going on," Brian started awkwardly.

"I know, I know, I can always talk to you," Gerard said, and got up before Brian could give his speech about Not Being Brendon But Still Trying To Understand And Always Being Willing To Listen. It was a nice speech, but Gerard was kind of tired of it. "I'm going home, I guess."

Brian said, "I'm calling Brendon and telling him you're not talking to Frank."

"Brian," Gerard complained. "Don't. I'll tell him. I mean, I am talking to Frank, but what I _really_ mean is, they're on tour, and I don't want to worry Brendon about something stupid in the meantime, okay?"

Brian sighed and waved at him. "Go away, then," he said.

Gabe was still yelling loud enough to be heard in the hallway, and Gerard was tempted to listen in and try to figure out what was the big deal, but talking to Gabe always took a long time. "Are you busy?" he said instead to Greta, who was still sitting on the floor.

She looked up, briefly. "I'm trying to figure out how to alphabetize this band. They're called '...The Ship,' but like, with three dots in front, and I don't know if I put it under 'd' for 'dot,' or 'e' for 'ellipsis,' or 't' for the, or 's' for 'ship,' or 'f' for fucking pretentious. Ooops. Pretend I didn't swear in front of you."

"Brian swears all the time," Gerard shrugged. "Wait until Brendon and Ryan get back. Their band has a semi-colon in the name."

Greta blinked. "Seriously?" she said. "That's... Why?"

Gerard shrugged. "They couldn't come up with something, and finally my brother Mikey was like, you should call yourselves 'pretty odd, 'cause you are,' but Ryan thought it wasn't obvious which way they meant it. Like, pretty odd, or pretty _odd_ , or _pretty_ odd, and then Spencer punched him and said 'Who are you calling pretty?' and finally Ryan decided a semi-colon made it clearer."

"Made _what_ clearer?" Greta asked.

"I have absolutely no idea," Gerard said. "Pretty; Odd. Just... Roll with it, Brian said, and then he said they'll probably change it when they get older, because they aren't idiots."

Greta looked doubtful, but Gerard was confident. Brendon and Ryan's band was _awesome_.

"You should come see them this weekend," said Gerard. "You'll love them. Trust me."

Greta smiled. It was sort of stunning, and Gerard wasn't sure why or how he felt about that. "I trust you," she said. "You fixed the phones."

He wasn't grinning stupidly, because that would have been ridiculous. "That was nothing special," he said, but she kept beaming at him, and he—weirdly—wanted her to keep beaming. "Oh, Brian wants to talk to you."

She made a silly face. She and Brendon were going to get along just fine. "Great," she said, "Thanks for letting me know."

"I have to go," said Gerard awkwardly. He wasn't great at explaining himself to strangers.

"Then I'll see you at the show on Sunday," said Greta.

It was lame, but Gerard hoped he would.

The bus ride home was boring; Gerard spent most of it listening to The Smiths really loudly on his headphones and wishing Brendon were back already to talk about music with. He could talk to Mikey, but he always felt weird when his little brother knew more about stuff than he did.

But then, sitting on the front steps of Brian's house and looking a little melancholy, was Frank.

Gerard's heart stopped.

Just for a second.

Frank had his chin on his knees and his punk half-shaved hair hanging in his eyes. He'd snuck in and gotten a tattoo for his birthday last year, and his arm was covered in swirls of color. Gerard thought it was totally cool, at the same time he thought it was completely terrifying to have someone stick needles in your arm.

Frank perked up when he saw Gerard, and Gerard stopped dead, because he wasn't sure what he was going to say, but he knew he was in trouble. He smiled back at Frank, but it was tentative, and that _sucked_ ; Frank was the one person at school—the one person on earth, maybe, if you didn't count Mikey—who Gerard could always talk to, only now he couldn't. Bob and Ray were great, but if he tried to talk to them about Frank, they'd totally tell Frank, and that was as bad as... That would be the end of everything. He could feel himself getting inarticulate and stupid just looking at Frank. It wasn't fair.

"Hey," said Frank, jumping to his feet. His jeans were all ripped, but Frank never looked like he was trying too hard. His jeans were always ripped from actually falling, never bought that way.

"Hey," said Gerard. So far so good. If he ignored this long enough it would go away.

Frank tilted his head curiously. "I thought maybe you were sick or something, because I haven't heard from you in like, three days. But... You're not." Was that accusatory, or was Gerard imagining it?

"Um," said Gerard. "Yeah."

"Well then," said Frank, "are you mad at me? Did I do something? I asked Bob, but he said he didn't think so."

Gerard wanted to blurt seventeen different things at Frank, all at once, but he couldn't make any of them make sense, so he just stared at his sneakers instead. He wished he were a person who was good at explaining how he was feeling, but he hadn't even really managed to articulate it to himself. "I'm not mad at you," he said finally.

"Well then what the hell, Gee? You've been weird all summer!" Frank burst out.

That was definitely upset, if not an outright accusation. Gerard looked up. Frank looked mad, hands on his hips. He also looked, if Gerard were being honest, although he'd been trying not to be...

Frank had started looking good.

In like, a _different than usual_ way.

Sometime during the spring, when Gerard had been stuck late in rehearsals and dying of exhaustion and stress and misery over being at school until seven o'clock every night, Frank had stopped by with a sandwich and a red bull, and he'd smiled at Gerard. He wasn't even sure which night it had been, but for the very first time all the things floating around Gerard's brain had coalesced into _Frank._ Because Frank wasn't just his best friend standing there with a sandwich, he was this _guy_ , who had this _smile_ , and who was always _funny_ and _thoughtful_ and _awesome_. Gerard's heart had leapt right in to his throat and his stomach had done a weird, swoopy thing, and his hands were shaking when he took the sandwich. He'd tried to smile at Frank like everything was normal, like thirty seconds earlier, but he couldn't, because suddenly he was smiling at Frank and thinking " _I have a crush on him._ "

Jesus Christ. How fucking cliché was that, honestly?

The worst part was realizing that not only did he have a crush on his best friend, but he'd probably had one _forever_ , because he couldn't think of a time when Frank hadn't made everything better. Frank was the brightest part of Gerard's day, every day, and he wanted Frank around all the time, and he wanted to tell Frank about every stupid thing that happened.

He maybe, also, if he were being totally honest, wanted some other stuff from Frank, too, but thinking about it was way too terrifying.

Gerard had done a whole project in English class about 'irony.' It was, in his opinion, _really fucking ironic_ that the more time he wanted to spend with Frank, the less time he actually could stand to spend with him. He had a plan though; all he had to do was ignore the whole situation, and eventually it would go away. Then things with Frank would go back to normal. That was how the whole 'don't call Frank' plan had gotten started.

Things were changing all over, and Gerard absolutely, positively couldn't let things change with Frank.

Frank was still staring at him, with this uncertain expression that killed Gerard inside a little bit. "Um," said Gerard, because he couldn't remember what he'd said last. "I'm not mad at you."

"Then why didn't you call me?" Frank demanded. "You're being really weird, even for you."

"No, I'm not," said Gerard lamely. He totally was. He just couldn't explain why.

Frank huffed and sat down again. "Is this like... Is this because you're a senior?"

"Maybe?" said Gerard uncertainly, sitting down next to him and dumping his bag on the grass. Usually he would have bumped Frank with his shoulder and maybe poked him until he cheered up, but Gerard wasn't sure he was allowed to do that anymore. He felt like he should keep his hands to himself, just in case it _meant_ something.

"If you're not going to talk to me because I'm a junior then you suck," said Frank, making a face.

Gerard blinked at him. "If I... Why would I... Oh, _no_ , that's not what I meant," he said.

"Good," Frank huffed, "Because that would be totally shitty of you." He waited expectantly for Gerard to explain what was going on.

Gerard's sneaker was untied, so he made a big deal out of tying it again. Frank smelled good. Or at least, he smelled like Frank, because Frank's mom always used this laundry detergent that was a little flowery.

"Well then?" Frank burst out finally. "Did aliens take over your brain? Was Mikey kidnapped by pirates? Did Brendon break up with Ryan? What horrible thing happened so you didn't _call_ me?"

"Nothing," said Gerard awkwardly, wishing he were a better liar. "I just... I wanted some time to think about stuff."

"Oh," said Frank. "Stuff like what?"

"Private stuff," said Gerard, because _'you'_ was a shitty answer.

Frank rolled his eyes. "Are you freaking out over graduation again?" he asked.

"Yes," said Gerard gratefully, immediately. "Totally."

"It's not that big a deal," Frank said, shaking his head. "Everyone graduates. It'll be fine. You're such a freak."

Gerard silently agreed with him, feeling miserable. "I don't want things to change," said Gerard.

"Things aren't going to change," said Frank. Frank managed to always sound sensible, and totally confident. "Why would things change?"

Gerard wanted to cling to Frank and demand that he say it over and over. "Nothing's going to change," he repeated, and looked at Frank. "You promise."

"Of course I promise," said Frank, rolling his eyes. "You're being stupid again. I don't think Brendon can go on tour; you need him around to beat you in to making sense."

"He gets back Sunday," said Gerard. "You're coming to the show, right?"

"Duh," said Frank. He looked seriously at Gerard. "We're cool?" he said. "Will you start _calling_ me again? Jesus Christ."

"Yeah. I'm... Sorry about that."

Frank waved him off. "It's cool," he said. "You wouldn't be Gerard if you weren't weird about shit. So... Be less weird, or else be weird with me."

Gerard wondered how Frank would feel if he knew just how weird Gerard wanted to be with him. "Okay," he said. "Deal."

Frank punched him in the shoulder. Gerard inched a little bit further away on the step. Frank didn't appear to notice. "Where's Mikey? I'm bored. This summer fucking sucks so far."

This summer sucked _so hard_ Gerard didn't even have words to describe it.

///

Getting the kids into the club wasn't a problem; Brian knew everyone who worked there. It was more trouble, actually, to get the bartender to stop winking at him and saying he'd hook the kids up if Brian wanted. Brian absolutely _didn't_ want Gerard or Frank or Bob or Ray getting comped for drinks by some jackass to keep Brian booking shows there.

Gerard was buzzing with excitement, and Frank was right there with him, bouncing off the walls. Bob and Ray were more about the stage set up and examining the amps and wires. Mikey, weirdly, seemed to know most of the people working at the club, which meant Brian was going to have to start looking in to his leisure-time activities a little more closely.

They were early, so the place was pretty empty. Brian had a few people he needed to track down before the show, not to mention finding the band to wish them a good show. "If I see you near that bar," said Brian, "I will kill you dead myself, clear?"

"Clear," said Gerard, who obviously didn't care. Frank looked a little poutier, but he wouldn't do anything if Gerard didn't. Mikey was Brian's biggest worry, because Mikey was getting a little rebellious as he got older. He wouldn't risk getting kicked out before he saw Brendon play, though.

Brian went off to find Zack. He'd promised Brendon that he wasn't going to treat their band any differently than he'd treat any other unsigned band, and then turned around and broken that promise so hard it was a wonder Brendon hadn't called him having a fit. Brian figured Spencer had stopped him. Spencer was sort of a remarkable kid, Brian had come to realize, and he was grateful that Spencer was part of the package deal with Ryan.

Zack was a good tour manager and an amazing security guy whom Brian had been working with for years. Zack had a couple of weeks free, so Brian had bribed him in to touring with the kids. Technically he was running security for all three bands, not just Brendon's, but Zack was way more of a professional than would have been required for a tour of unknowns.

He was also pretty easy to pick out of a crowd, being six-foot six and all. "Hey," said Brian, and they shook hands. "How was the tour?"

"How was babysitting, you mean?" said Zack, rolling his eyes. "Brendon's a handful."

Brian laughed. "I warned you, didn't I?"

"Jesus, I thought you meant _on stage_. You didn't say anything about him actually being a cartoon character." Zack didn't look annoyed, he looked amused, which Brian took as a good sign.

"How were the shows?" Brian asked, sticking his hands in his pockets. He wasn't nervous about the answer, because he'd heard some rehearsals and he was confident in his instincts. Some outside confirmation wouldn't hurt, though.

Zack considered for a second. "Well, they don't need me yet, but the first time they tour for real they will. No shit, by the third show we had girls in the front row singing along with every word, screaming for Brendon. It was fucking hilarious."

"Awesome," said Brian.

"Don't tell them I said that, though. Spencer's already bragging that they have me wrapped around their finger. The little fucker."

"Spencer's hard to resist," said Brian.

Zack rolled his eyes. "It's like trying to herd kittens, getting those kids around. You can't yell at them, because they just _look_ at you, and it's like... Seriously, they are always late to everything, I could have wrung their necks, except how can you be mad at them?"

Brian laughed. "Yeah," he said. "I've noticed."

"Anyway," Zack shrugged, "I have to go make sure the techs don't fuck around. But listen, Brian, if they get a real tour, and you need a guy..." He paused.

"I'll call you first," said Brian, trying not to grin.

"Sweet," said Zack. "Don't tell Spencer I said that, either."

Brian went back over to the kids, who were deep in conversation with, of all people, Greta. Brian didn't remember telling her about the show, but it made sense; Gabe was here somewhere, too. She nodded earnestly while Gerard told her something, hands flying everywhere. Mikey hung slightly behind him, looking dubious.

"Hey," said Brian.

Greta looked up. She wasn't really dressed up for a night out at a bar, unless that bar was a speakeasy during prohibition. She had a headband and everything. It was charmingly low-key quirky, as opposed to Gabe, who was wearing a purple hoodie and a cape. Brian had given up trying to understand Gabe years ago. "Hi," said Greta. "Gerard invited me, I hope you don't mind."

Gerard had _what_? Gerard just beamed at him, obviously proud of himself, so Brian pretended that wasn't one of the weirder sentences he'd ever heard. "Of course not," he said. "These are our clients, after all."

"Family," Mikey scowled.

Brian held his hands up in surrender. "Family, of course," he said. Mikey nodded.

"Okay," said Greta, "Can someone explain you guys to me? Because I am really, genuinely curious."

"It's easy," Gerard scoffed. "Brian adopted me and Mikey when we were little. And then he thought we were too little to hang out on our own, even though we weren't, so he hired Brendon to babysit."

"Brendon's awesome," Mikey put in.

"Clearly," Greta agreed. "He's in a rock band." Mikey looked at her thoughtfully for a second.

"So then Brendon was ours because his family sucked and kicked him out," Gerard went on. "And he started going out with Ryan, who worked with Brian, and then his best friend Spencer started dating this cool guy named Jon, and now they're a band. Got it?"

Greta ticked things off on her fingers. "Brendon was a babysitter. Now he's in a band. He's dating Ryan. Ryan's BFF with Spencer. Spencer's dating Jon. They're an awesome band. Everyone's family. Right?"

"Right," Brian agreed, silently marveling that she could parse Gerard so easily.

Frank started tugging on Gerard's sleeve. "I think Ray's about to electrocute himself," he said. "Can we go watch? I'm bored."

Gerard gave a long-suffering sigh and nodded. "Sure," he said, and they left.

Mikey crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Greta. "You're replacing them," he said, and it wasn't a mean tone, exactly, but it wasn't super welcoming, either. "But you're _not_ replacing them."

"God, Mikey—" Brian started. Having Greta quit the same week she'd gotten hired because one of his kids was being a brat was _not_ part of the plan.

"I'm not replacing them," Greta agreed. "I bet I'm not anything like them. Someone better introduce me later, though, because all I've heard all week is how awesome they are. I might need to get an autograph or something."

"Are you making fun?" Mikey demanded.

Greta smiled at him, totally ignoring his scowl. "Brian says you have the best taste in bands," she said. "So if you say they're awesome, I believe you."

They had a little bit of a stare off. Just when Brian was ready to die, or maybe grab Mikey by the arm and try and shake him in to better behavior, Mikey shrugged and looked down. "People don't _get_ us," he muttered, scuffing his sneaker.

"That's why I asked," said Greta.

Mikey stared at her for another second, but it was less hostile this time. "Fine," said Mikey finally. "Maybe you're like Ryan." And then he wandered off after his brother.

Greta laughed a little shakily. "He's a tough crowd, huh? How am I like Ryan?"

"No idea," said Brian. "Don't let him get to you. Mikey doesn't like new people very much, and you're replacing two of his favorites. I think he decided you're okay, though. It can be hard to tell with him."

Greta frowned. "Aren't they coming back?"

"Maybe," said Brian. "Ryan's been working for me for years, but if the band gets signed he can't be in the office eight hours a day. Brendon's never really taken the job very seriously anyway."

"God, _Brendon_ ," said Greta. "The way everyone talks about him—"

"He's just Brendon," said Brian. "He's... Well. You'll meet him. He's hard to explain."

She looked just the tiniest bit doubtful, but then the lights flashed on and off and the band came out on stage, plugging in amps and checking guitars and the keyboard. They looked exhausted, Brian thought, and a little bit unwashed and gross, but they also looked thrilled. Brendon stopped by the front of the stage to talk to Mikey for a second, and then grinned like it was Christmas and high-fived him. Spencer rolled his eyes and came over, hauling him back offstage, where Zack was shaking his head at all of them.

"Brian!" Gerard yelled. "Brian, they're starting soon!"

Brian didn't point out that he'd seen thousands of concerts and he knew perfectly well what was about to happen, because Gerard was so excited. Brian was a little bit excited too. Usually he didn't meet bands before they were even bands. Usually they weren't part of the family.

The house lights went down. Brian's kids had pushed up to the stage because there was plenty of room for them right by the amps. Mikey went straight for the middle, where Brendon would be, but Gerard was clearly conflicted over where to stand. He waffled and then headed over toward Ryan's side, with Frank right behind him. Ray and Bob didn't seem to care much where they ended up.

"Should we push up?" Greta asked, biting her lip.

"I think we're probably too old for that," said Brian, and then wished he hadn't. Greta was practically the same age as the band. "I mean, you can if you want. I didn't mean—"

"I'll stay back here with the cool kids," Greta said, grinning, and Brian felt a little better.

Brendon and Spencer and Ryan and Jon walked out, and the crowd cheered and clapped a little bit, which was nice. Gerard and Bob and Ray and Mikey and Frank were yelling loudly enough to make it sound like the place was more than half-full, and Brendon started giggling. He grabbed a guitar and went up to the mic. Spencer looked sort of grimly determined, and Ryan was staring entirely at the floor, clutching his guitar like a life-raft.

"Hey," said Brendon cheerfully. "Thanks for coming out, you guys." He waved at Gerard and Mikey, who waved back. Then he looked over his shoulder and counted Spencer in.

They sounded a little unpracticed to Brian's ear, and he could hear Spencer lagging and Ryan rushing just a tiny bit. Mostly what he noticed, though, was how comfortable Brendon looked, and how whenever Ryan looked up he'd look at Brendon, and Brendon would grin back at him, and Ryan would, just for a second, look like he was enjoying himself. Between songs Brendon glanced over his shoulder at Spencer and shook his head. He went back and said something to Spencer, complete with giant gesticulations, and Spencer cracked up. It took a lot of the tension out of Spencer's shoulders, Brian noticed.

Jon wasn't tense at all; he was sipping a beer and grinning at the crowd and his band, playing bass like he didn't have a care in the world. It contrasted hilariously with Brendon, who was bouncing all over the stage. Sometime during the third song the crowd started inching closer to the stage, and even the people leaning on the walls were paying attention. The crowd was growing, too. There were people singing along, and every time Brendon noticed he'd grin.

"So we have one more song," Brendon said finally, a little out of breath. "You guys are pretty fucking awesome, though. Did you—Were you two in Boston?" A girl in the front row yelled something, and Brendon doubled over, laughing.

"See, that's devotion," Jon said into his mic, and took another drink.

"Stalking," Ryan agreed, in a quiet deadpan. "But in a good way."

"Shut up, it's _awesome_ ," Brendon said. "Oh, we have to thank a bunch of people. Thanks to Tartarus—" the crowd cheered, "—for taking us with them. And Zack, for not killing me this week." Brendon blew a kiss off-stage and Brian laughed. "And Brian, for hooking us up. You were right, I was wrong, we owe you forever, dude." He started laughing again. "We're gonna be around after the show, and you guys should all come out and say hi. And when we actually make an album, we expect to see _all_ of you again. Okay?" The crowd yelled back to him, a lot more enthusiastically than before.

The last song went quickly, and Brian thought what a shame it was that they only had five or six songs ready to play in public. Brendon's voice was great live, and the more he bounced on stage the more enthusiastic the crowd got along with him. Brian looked around and saw more and more people really watching the band. Greta, in particular, looked a little bit enraptured. She leaned over and yelled, "I think I get it now." Brian grinned.

Brendon thanked the crowd a dozen times, until Spencer finally dragged him offstage, and the lights came back up. "That was awesome," Greta said, just as all the boys came rushing back. Gerard was starry-eyed and breathless, and even Mikey seemed awed.

"They're a _real band_ ," said Gerard, flailing a little bit. "Brian! Did you see that? How great was that?"

"Pretty great," Brian agreed. "They'll be out from backstage in a minute. You guys should go—" He was talking to himself; the boys had already rushed off again.

Greta smiled and folded her arms. "So pretend you hadn't adopted half this band," she said, "and we'd just gotten a phone call to come down here and hear them play. What would you say about them?"

Brian was a professional, and he'd hired Greta because he respected her as a professional, so he couldn't very well ask her to support a band for less-than-professional reasons. "I'd say a couple of things," said Brian after a minute. "First I'd tell you that a lot of this job is instinct, and I get a good feeling about them. But I'd also tell you that I hear a solid sound there, and Brendon has stage presence and good sense of himself and the band. I know they're serious about it and they're willing to put in the time to get better. And they're nice kids, easy to work with."

Greta nodded consideringly. "I thought they sounded good, but really young. I'd worry, sending them on the road like this, that they'd get discouraged. They need to play live a few more times to get the feel for it; the drummer—Spencer?—wasn't with the guitars for the whole thing."

"The guitars weren't with him, more like," said Brian. "Ryan got nervous and raced ahead."

"Ryan's the one with all the makeup? Is he... Are you sure he's going to hold up to touring and press and labels?"

"He's tougher than he looks," said Brian firmly. "Plus, he's got his best friend and his boyfriend with him."

"Sometimes that's a negative," Greta pointed out. "Is he... Are they planning on touring as couples or just as a band? Eventually people are going to wonder."

Brian shrugged. "I don't know, I haven't talked to them about it yet. But these are great kids."

Greta laughed. "So, not so much with pretending not to know them, huh?"

"If we're being honest," said Brian, "it wouldn't matter that much if I didn't. I work mostly on instinct."

Gerard shoved his way back through the crowd, this time with Brendon in tow. "Brian," said Gerard. "Tell him how _great_ that was."

"No," said Brendon instantly. He looked sweaty and exhausted and also, if Gerard let go of his arm, like he might float straight through the ceiling. "You can't be like, 'oh, that was great,' because I won't believe you. You won't be _honest_. Also, hi." He beamed expectantly at Greta.

Greta wasn't undone by the sheer wattage being aimed at her up close, which was admirable. "Hi," she said. "I'm Greta."

Brendon looked at Gerard, who shook his head and said, "No, dude, she works at the _office_." Then he rolled his eyes, for mysterious reasons.

"I totally saw your resume!" said Brendon happily. "I told Brian to call you. I can't believe he finally hired someone else, it took him forever. He needed someone, he works way too hard. Plus, if Ryan's with us, you'll need _another_ someone new. Jon!" Brendon waved wildly, bouncing on his toes.

"Does he breathe?" asked Greta quietly. Brian laughed and shook his head.

"Dude, you are the best," said Jon happily to Brian. "Where did you find Zack? He's like, the coolest guy ever. When Brendon wandered off he just picked him up and brought him back. When we're rich and famous we're gonna pay him to come around with us everywhere."

"That's not true, no he didn't, I totally came back on my own. If anyone was bugging Zack it was Spencer, you're a total liar. This is Greta, she's the new Ryan. Eww, I am so gross, I need a shower." Brendon was running at about 150% normal energy, and Brian couldn't help but wonder if he'd been doing that the entire tour. Was it possible for anyone to maintain that level of excitement for more than an hour or two?

Jon patted him on the shoulder. "No more coffee for you before shows. Jesus, dude, calm down."

"I liked the set a lot," said Greta, shaking Jon's hand.

"Yeah," said Jon. "We need more practice, huh?" He laughed. "You should have heard the first night, I thought Ryan was going to get to the end of the song before we even hit the last chorus."

"He was _fine_ ," said Brendon indignantly. "Spencer was behind."

"Fuck you," said Jon affably. "Ryan rushes, dude."

"That's not true—" Brendon started, but Spencer came up behind and threw his arms around Brendon's neck, staggering him a step.

"Stop arguing," said Spencer firmly. "Whatever you two are fussing about was awesome and perfect and amazing, okay?" He hugged Brendon until he stopped trying to hop indignantly.

Ryan was with Spencer, staring hard at his shoes and trying to stay as far behind him as possible. He shoved his hands in his pockets and bit his lip. The rest of the band seemed pretty ecstatic, but Ryan was all shut down.

"Well, Brian?" asked Spencer. "It was awesome. Right?"

Everyone turned to look at him, and Brian was incredibly thankful that he didn't have to break anyone's heart. "A little unpracticed," he said, and saw Ryan flinch. "But it sounded good. Amazing energy."

"You mean Brendon looks like he's going to explode all the time," Spencer translated, laughing. "Dude, you have _got_ to _chill_." He was still hanging on Brendon, so he squeezed a little bit, and Brendon laughed and tried to squirm away.

"Brendon's a great frontman," said Greta. "I was completely charmed."

"I was right to hire you," Brendon announced, despite the fact that he hadn't even been in the city when that had happened. She smiled at Brendon, and he beamed right back. "See? We're amazing!" said Brendon, wiggling free of Spencer to hug Ryan. He whispered something in Ryan's ear that made him blush and shake his head. Brian wondered what the hell was going on with him tonight; Brendon and Spencer looked triumphant, and Ryan was acting like he'd lost at something.

"C'mon, c'mon, I want to go bug Zack," Brendon said, pulling on Ryan's arm. "I told him the last night we were going to go out, he promised he'd come with. Come _on_."

"We'd invite you with us, totally, but you're going home with the boys, right?" said Jon to Brian, with a sheepish smile, taking Spencer's hand in his.

Brian thought about going out to party and drink with four kids who'd just graduated from college, and his stomach lurched preemptively. "I've been wasted enough for this lifetime," he said. "Thanks, though."

"I want to go out," said Gerard loudly. "Can I go?"

"When you're twenty-one," said Brian, grabbing his hood just in case.

"Thank you, Brian, you're the best, we love you, seriously," said Brendon. He hugged Brian quickly, almost knocking him off his feet, then dragged Ryan off through the crowd. Jon rolled his eyes and tried to follow.

Spencer stuck his ground and tugged his hand free. He and Jon had a quick wordless conversation which ended with Jon shrugging and saying, "Whatever," and following Brendon.

Spencer had his serious face on, and Brian had learned over the past couple of years that Spencer, despite being the youngest in the band, was usually the most level-headed. "I don't know how we can thank you enough," he said.

Brian gave him a little shove. "Don't be stupid," he said. "You guys are family."

"Right, but, still." There was something a little weird in Spencer's tone, and he frowned.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, crossing his arms.

For just a second Spencer's face clearly said "no," but it flashed across so quickly Brian thought he might have imagined it. "Thanks for saying we were okay," he said instead. "Ryan's really worried about your opinion."

"Is that why he was so quiet?" Brian asked. He was trying to figure out if Spencer was just worried about Ryan—and who could have been friends with Ryan for this many years and not become protective of him?—or if there was something else going on.

"He's just... He was really worked up about what you thought. So you saying we were good is going to keep him from jumping off a building or something." Spencer was still just _looking_ at him, like Brian had said it just for fun.

Brian frowned. "Spencer," he said. "Is something—"

"I have to go," said Spencer instead. "I—Oh, Brendon tried to invite me to dinner at your house next week, and I told him that was weird, and he said—"

"You should come," said Brian. It wasn't like Spencer hadn't been over dozens of times in the last couple of years. "All of you can, if you want."

"Ryan and Jon are busy," said Spencer, rolling his eyes. "Brendon said he was worried about me being lonely. He's so lame sometimes." He smiled, and it looked totally normal. Brian decided he'd imagined whatever he thought he'd seen earlier. Spencer was fine. Compared to Ryan and Brendon, Spencer was a rock.

"Seriously, stop by," said Brian.

"I... Yeah, okay," said Spencer shrugging uncomfortably. "Thanks." He gave them a little half-wave and went off to find his band.

The next band was starting up, and the lights flickered. "I think I see someone I know," Greta said. She flashed them a quick, goofy smile. To Brian's astonishment, Gerard smiled back. Gerard hardly ever smiled at anyone. Something was clearly going on, and Brian wasn't sure he approved.

"See you tomorrow," said Brian.

Greta laughed. "The whole point of hiring me was so you _wouldn't_ have to come in on weekends, wasn't it?"

Brian had actually completely forgotten that tomorrow was Saturday. "Oh," he said blankly. "Right."

Greta laughed as she walked off. She'd been in a band, he knew, so it wasn't that surprising she'd know lots of people at a show. It was just unusual for Brian to meet women who knew their way around the industry and were so easy to talk to.

Gerard looked at him, hands in his pockets and hoodie up again. "She's totally awesome," he said, in a weird tone of voice Brian couldn't place.

"Yeah," said Brian. "She was a good hire."

For some reason that made Gerard roll his eyes and shake his head. "You're so lame," he said. "I'm gonna go find Mikey."

Brian was left wondering what the hell was going on.

\\\\\\\

Spencer had been to lots and lots of family dinners. His family had usually been the ones hosting someone else—people from out of town were always stopping in unexpectedly, or relatives were showing up with no notice, or people his parents knew from work came home with them. Plus, there was the fact that Ryan had basically lived at his house for most of high school. Spencer was totally socialized to be a Good Host and also Good Company, complete with polite small talk and a couple of ties he could wear just in case.

None of that stopped him from feeling sort of weird about going to Brian's house for dinner. He couldn't stop drumming his hand against his thigh.

"Dude," said Brendon. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Spencer. He made himself stop drumming.

"Because, this is going to be the most chill dinner ever," said Brendon. "It's nothing, seriously."

"I know," Spencer said.

"It's just Brian and the kids. You've had dinner with them like, a dozen times."

"Jesus, I _know_ , shut up," said Spencer.

Brendon rolled his eyes. "You're drumming again," he pointed out.

Spencer looked down, mildly surprised to see that his hand had started tapping out a rhythm on his thigh again without his permission. "Oh," he said. "That's just because I'm a drummer. I'm practicing."

Brendon laughed. "You're such a shitty liar," he said. "I can't believe I ever believed you about anything."

Spencer didn't want to talk about that, so he sank back in the seat a little bit. Sometimes, when Ryan was feeling particularly nasty, he'd bring up the epic disaster that had been the whole first month Spencer had known Brendon. It never failed to make Spencer wish he could go back in time and punch himself in the face. It made him want to punch Ryan, too, because Ryan didn't even have to say it, he'd just sigh meaningfully. Ryan sucked.

The problem with having a best friend who'd known him since he was five was that he knew every stupid and embarrassing thing Spencer had ever done, and he was willing to bring them up at any point in front of anyone to win an argument. Spencer had plenty of dirt on Ryan, too, of course, but nothing quite so spectacularly stupid as that had been.

"What's the deal, Spencer Smith?" asked Brendon cheerfully. "You've been a grumpy bear all week."

Spencer bit his lip. "No, I haven't," he said. If it was obvious enough that Brendon had noticed, with all the band stuff going on, then Spencer needed to tamp it down a lot further.

Brendon sighed. They were at a stoplight, so he took the opportunity to turn and give Spencer his saddest face.

Spencer squirmed. "Brian's our _boss_ now," he said. "It's _different._ "

"Ha," said Brendon. "First of all, how many fucking times did I say mixing family and work was weird? I bet a million. And did anyone listen to me? No, no one ever listens to me. Like just because I'm loud, I must be wrong?" He rolled his eyes.

"Shut up," said Spencer, because there was no reasoning with Brendon.

"Second," Brendon went on, undeterred, "You're being totally stupid. Brian is Brian. There's no mean version of him, okay? There is no version of tonight where you knock over a candle and burn the house down and he takes away the band. Because you're not that clumsy, and he's not that vindictive, and we're not starring in a Sandra Bullock movie. So will you _please_ chill out?"

"I'm chill," said Spencer shortly. And he was; dealing with Brian and dinner tonight ranked roughly thirtieth out of thirty on the list of Things Spencer was Concerned About at the moment.

"Good," said Brendon, pulling up in front of Brian's house. "Because there's one other thing."

No, no, no, no. "Brendon, I swear to god—" Spencer started.

Brendon flashed him a quick, apologetic grin. "Just one tiny little thing," he said quickly, unbuckling his seat belt. "Susan's gonna be here. And that's why—god, I can't handle her on my own again, okay, I maybe didn't tell you so you'd come with me. But seriously, Spence, I don't know what to do about her at this point. Gerard and Mikey want me to talk to Brian about it, and I don't know what to say, so I'm just like... You're my rock, Spencer. I need you around tonight."

Spencer wished Jon were there. Jon always just shrugged and took stuff as it came, which took a little of the pressure off Spencer to be the sane one. Brendon couldn't be expected to wander the world not getting in trouble, and Ryan clearly needed one of those bubble things to roll around in. Spencer had to keep all his freak outs to himself, because the two of them were always halfway to a heart attack before he even got started. With Jon, sometimes Spencer felt like he could lose his shit, although he'd never _actually_ lost his shit with Jon. He didn't really want Jon to figure out just how upset Spencer actually felt sometimes. That was kind of a secret.

Spencer fidgeted. "Shit, dude, I don't want to meet Brian's girlfriend. You haven't even told me what's _wrong_ with her, just that everyone hates her or something, and I don't want—"

Brendon nodded quickly. "I know, I'm sorry, I totally owe you. I just... I needed someone with me, for moral support. Please don't be mad, Spencer. Please?"

There was no fucking reasoning with Brendon when he had the big eyes and the pleading voice. Spencer could actually feel his resolve crumbling. "Fine," he said, and Brendon threw himself at him for a hug. "Off, get off, I'm still pissed—" Spencer said, but he was laughing a little because Brendon was totally ridiculous.

"I am so lucky to have you, Spencer," said Brendon seriously.

He really fucking was, Spencer thought exasperatedly. He put on his calmest, most adult face, and shoved Brendon off his lap. "Fine," he said. "But you _owe_ me."

"I owe you big," Brendon agreed, still totally sincere. Spencer hated the way Brendon was so fucking open about things. Why couldn't he have grown up in a normal family and learned to lie and be mean and selfish?

Spencer's thought about dinner with Susan and his stomach tried to flutter, but he shut it down ruthlessly. If Brendon was going to be panicking tonight about how to talk to Brian, then Spencer had to be friendly and calm. That was the way things worked. Spencer put his shoulders back and followed Brendon up to the door.

They hadn't knocked at Brian's house in years, but Spencer wished they did, so he could have prepared a little bit better. Instead Brendon flung the door open and yelled, "Hi!" Gerard was sitting on the couch with Frank—at the opposite end of the couch from Frank, actually, which made Spencer frown—and Mikey was curled up in a chair texting on his phone.

"What's up?" said Mikey tonelessly.

"They're in the kitchen," said Frank. He rolled his eyes really hard.

"Brendon," Spencer started, crossing his arms, because it was Brendon's weird-ass family, fine, but Spencer really didn't need to be there if everyone was already behaving strangely. Brian walked out of the kitchen.

"Guys," said Brian, smiling. "C'mon in."

There was a woman behind him in the kitchen. She looked perfectly normal to Spencer; a little taller than Brian, short dark hair, wearing a momish sweater and jeans. Spencer hung back a bit, but he saw the smile on Brendon's face go from 'happy to see Gerard' to the plastic smile he got when people said things like, "Your parents must be so proud."

"Hi, Brendon!" Susan said. "We're so glad you came." She walked over and gave him a hug, and Spencer had honestly never seen Brendon's shoulders go _up_ while getting a hug before. She turned to Spencer and said, "And you're his friend Spencer? I've heard wonderful things about you!" And proceeded to hug Spencer.

Spencer wasn't huge on hugs from strangers, but he also wasn't a jerk, so he patted her a little awkwardly on the back. "Hi," he said. "How're you?"

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes," she said, and then looked over her shoulder. "Mikey, honey, I asked you to put the phone away. You need to go wash your hands for dinner." The look Mikey gave her would have peeled paint off the wall. Susan didn't appear to notice. "Frank and Gerard, too," she said cheerfully. "Who wants to help me set out plates?"

There was a weird pause. Spencer resisted the urge to hide behind Brendon; the living room was so filled with tension the air was almost crackling. Plus, he was practically twice as tall as Brendon. His mother would have wanted him to volunteer, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be alone with Susan until he knew what was wrong with her.

"I will," said Brendon, glaring at Mikey and Gerard.

"I'm gonna go home, actually," said Frank. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Bye, Frankie," Susan said, as he slipped out. Spencer was envious. "Brendon, can you grab the nice glasses? When do we ever have company, honestly?"

Spencer wished Brendon were Ryan, because then he could have just thought really hard at Brendon about how uncomfortable things were. Living with someone for three years wasn't the same as knowing them since kindergarten, unfortunately. Brendon totally failed to get Spencer's brain-message. He just shrugged apologetically and followed Susan in to the kitchen.

"Mikey," sighed Brian.

Mikey threw his phone down with a disgusted noise and stormed upstairs. Brian hesitated for a second and then said, "Ugh," and followed him.

Spencer stuck his hands in his pockets uncomfortably and looked at Gerard. It was weird that Gerard hadn't really moved when Frank left, and weirder that he was sitting there staring mostly at the floor. Gerard was usually as animated as Brendon, all hands and flailing and yelling about whatever was going on. "So," said Spencer after a second. "Um. You guys had fun at the show?"

Gerard's face lit up. "You were awesome," he said. "I was totally impressed." And then stopped and fidgeted.

The world was upside down. Gerard had nothing to talk about. "You okay?" Spencer asked, sitting down on the edge of the couch. He wasn't Gerard's favorite, and he knew it; Gerard followed Ryan around like a puppy whenever he could, imitating his makeup and clothes and crazy. He hadn't mastered Ryan's monotone, but it wasn't for lack of trying.

"I'm fine," said Gerard. He looked at the door for a second, and Spencer thought about how, for the first time ever, he'd come over and Gerard and Frank hadn't been in each other's personal space.

Spencer was good with his sisters, but Gerard was a whole other thing. "If you're having troubles," he started.

"You wouldn't even understand," said Gerard miserably. "It's okay."

"I—wouldn't?" Spencer asked. He was a little astonished. He was used to Ryan and Brendon _running_ to him with things that were wrong.

Gerard shook his head and sank back on the couch. "You're all... Things go right for you. You don't have problems. You don't worry about stuff."

Spencer couldn't even answer that. He just stared.

"Things are always going wrong on me," said Gerard. "I get all twisted up. So you wouldn't... I mean, thanks for asking, though."

For a crazy second Spencer thought about telling Gerard _just how many_ things he was freaking out about at the moment. That the band wouldn't get signed, or worse, that they would and there would be _contracts_ and _expectations_. That Ryan would lose his shit if he had to do interviews, or that being in a band together would ruin Brendon somehow, or make Brendon and Ryan fight, or make Jon and Spencer fight, or make Spencer and Ryan fight, which should have been impossible, but Spencer had seen enough Behind The Musics to know it always happened. What about recording, and making videos, and what about touring and having equipment and interviews? What if they lost their equipment or things got broken or a van turned over or they got sick and couldn't do a show or Brendon lost his voice or their album got taken away by producers and changed, or—

He couldn't _breathe_. He made himself clench and unclench his fists a couple of times. He wasn't going to say any of that to Gerard. Shit, he wasn't going to say any of that to _anyone_. If Ryan knew how much stuff there was to worry about he'd hide under the covers and never come out again. Brendon would cry. Jon—thank god for Jon, but Jon would just shrug and smile and say "It'll all work out," when Spencer knew it _wouldn't_ , not unless he took care of it.

"Things work out if you make them work out," said Spencer instead. "You have to... You can't just sit around and wait for things."

Gerard frowned. "But what about... What if I just wait for things to be over?" he said.

"Maybe," said Spencer. "But then things pile up, and you have even more stuff to worry about in the end."

Gerard shook his head. "This isn't like that," he said. "I'm just gonna wait it out."

Spencer wished he knew what the hell Gerard were talking about. He added that on to his list—on his list of Problems People I Know Are Having he gave Gerard his own little subheading with _freaking out_ underlined. It was somewhere below Ryan's current lunacy about Brian, and plans for Jon's birthday plans and Brendon's general weirdness about touring.

"If that doesn't work, though—" Spencer started, but Susan called, "Come on out for dinner!"

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Do you see?" he said, and Spencer didn't, but he was starting to have suspicions. "Mikey!" Gerard yelled, and Mikey and Brian came trooping downstairs, Brian with a hand firmly on Mikey's back.

Spencer had sat through awkward meals before. His parents had invited Ryan's dad over for dinner one time, and that had been just about the most excruciatingly awful hour of Spencer's life. Ryan spent the whole thing hunched over his plate, not talking, and his dad smelled like beer, and Spencer's mom had done her determined-to-be-cheerful voice and pretended not to notice anything was wrong.

This dinner, on a scale of one-to-dinner-with-Ryan, fell pretty close to the Ryan end of the scale. It was the second worst, or maybe third worst, if he counted the dinner he'd eaten at Ryan's house, the night his dad had decided to try and reciprocate. Brian and Susan spent most of it talking to each other about work—she was a nurse or something—and Gerard and Mikey spent most of it staring meaningfully at each other with lots of waggling eyebrows and pursed lips. Any time there was a pause, Brendon jumped in, saying things like, "So I guess there was baseball on last night? But I don't actually know who played," and "Brian's job is really awesome, which I guess he already knows." He _babbled_ , and then he'd laugh all awkwardly, and Spencer kept kicking him under the table but Brendon couldn't stand silence.

"So what are you boys up to now?" Susan asked. She was absolutely lovely, the kind of person Spencer's mom would have called a 'good hostess.' "You graduated and Brian says you've got a band?"

"Yeah," said Brendon immediately. "I guess Brian thinks we can get signed and then we're gonna record an album. I mean, that's what usually happens. Otherwise I'll be out on the street busking or something, I guess. I still sort of work for Brian, so I'm not homeless or anything. But you know, it's kind of weird—"

Spencer kicked him again. Brendon was absolutely the worst at shutting up, and the last thing Spencer wanted to think about was what he would do if they didn't actually get signed. Ryan had a job, but Brendon's wasn't really real, and Jon would probably kill himself instead of staying at Starbucks, and Spencer's family wasn't going to support him forever. "Things are fine," said Spencer firmly, because if he said it enough it would be true.

"Yeah they are," said Brian, rolling his eyes. "We're gonna have you guys play a show next week, and get some people to come out and hear."

Spencer started making a list of all the things he'd need to get ready for that. "Oh, cool," said Brendon, bouncing a little bit. "That'll be great. I mean, Ryan'll probably say it's not great, but he thinks it's great, too, he just doesn't want to get excited in case things don't work out. Ryan's like that, though."

If Spencer kicked him again he was going to leave bruises. Brendon was a tiny little thing, and he broke easily. Or so Spencer suspected.

"That's nice," said Susan, smiling.

Mikey shoved his chair back. "I'm done," he said.

Susan's smile didn't waver. "Then ask to be excused," she said.

Spencer didn't mean to hold his breath, but it felt like a breath-holding minute. Mikey crossed his arms and looked at Brian, who clearly had no idea what to say. "Fine," said Mikey. "Can I be excused?" he managed to sneer it in a monotone, somehow.

"Of course," said Susan. "Don't forget to clean your room tonight. Like you said you would yesterday."

Mikey didn't say anything, just made a small snarling noise and stomped upstairs. Susan sighed a little. "You would think I'm asking for the moon." And then, to Gerard, "It's okay, honey. You look upset."

Gerard huffed a little. "Can I—I'm gonna go check on him," he said. "Okay?"

"Sure," Susan said.

If it had been awkward with the kids around, it was worse with just Brian and Susan and Brendon. Spencer wanted to sink under the table. "So uh," Brendon started, and then floundered for a second.

"So Spencer," said Susan brightly. "Where are you from?"

"Vegas," said Spencer. "Same as Brendon, but we didn't meet until we both got out here."

"Oh, isn't that funny!" She smiled. "And do you have brothers and sisters back there?"

"Two younger sisters," said Spencer. He liked this small talk; he knew what to say. "Crystal and Jackie. They're twins. They came out for graduation a few weeks ago."

"Oh, how lovely. I thought you might be an oldest child. You seem very responsible. I'm trying to instill a little of that in Gerard, but he's not much for chores."

Spencer couldn't imagine that he was. "My mom was pretty strict on chores," said Spencer.

Susan gave Brian an arch look. "See?" she said.

Brian rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. "I guess."

Spencer wasn't entirely sure what they were talking about, but he knew he didn't want to be part of it. "Can I—if we're done, can I help take the dishes in to the kitchen?" he said instead, because somewhere, somehow, his mom would totally know if he didn't offer.

"Aren't you a sweetheart?" Susan asked, delighted. "Thanks for giving me a hand."

Hopefully, too, that would give Brendon a chance to talk to Brian, and then they could leave. Spencer stood up and grabbed some plates. He took them in to the kitchen, and Susan followed, setting up at the sink. When Spencer got back out to the living room he gave Brendon what he hoped was a significant look—he and Brendon clearly needed to work on their silent communication skills—and grabbed more stuff. It took a second, but Brendon seemed to get it, looking anxiously from Spencer to Brian and bouncing up and down in his chair. Spencer had gotten to know the different kinds of restless movement Brendon had; that was definitely nervous hopping, as opposed to too-much-energy hopping, or impatient hopping.

Spencer ferried more stuff in to the kitchen and started putting leftovers in the fridge. Susan looked over her shoulder and said, "Can I ask you something?"

Spencer's stomach dropped. "I guess," he said, because yelling 'No!' and running out of the room wouldn't have been polite.

"Mikey and Gerard," said Susan. "You've known them for a couple of years, right? Have they always been... So stubborn?"

Stubborn was the nicest adjective Spencer could think of for Mikey and Gerard when they got worked up; Brendon was forever going over to Brian's house for emergencies like Mikey locking himself in his room, and Gerard climbing on the roof, and Mikey and Gerard refusing to speak to Brian for a week when he forgot Ray's birthday. Spencer would never have dared to pull any of that shit on his parents.

"I guess," said Spencer awkwardly, because he didn't like to lie. "They've got circumstances, though."

"It's no excuse for rudeness," said Susan firmly. "I love kids—I volunteer on the chilrden's ward at the hospital, and you should see their little faces, they're so grateful to have someone come in and play with them. But these two are..." She sighed a little. "I don't know _how_ many times I've offered to look at their homework over the summer or show them how to get their rooms organized. But all Gerard wants to do is draw—and always creepy, disturbing things—and all Mikey wants to do is listen to music. They never go outside, they never play sports, they never..." She waved a soapy hand around. "I'm worried about them," she said. "Gerard's had such a difficult time in high school. I want to make it a little easier for Mikey."

Spencer was glad he had something to do with his hands, because he didn't want to fidget. He wasn't sure how anyone could be so nice and still misunderstand everything so spectacularly. "I don't think that's what they're about," said Spencer. He wasn't much of a liar, as Brendon had pointed out. "They're nice kids, but they're not the sporty type. They're not much on... I guess gratitude, either. They had kind of a hard time. You have to meet them on their own terms."

"I'm trying," Susan said, and he believed her.

"I'm sure you really like kids," Spencer said awkwardly. "Just. These kids aren't like other kids."

"I've noticed," she said. She turned around, leaning against the sink. She looked upset, and Spencer wanted to say something comforting, but he couldn't think of anything. "I don't know what to _say_ to them." She laughed a little sadly. "I'm sorry to lay this on you."

It was Spencer's fucking curse to always seem like the kind of person you could unload problems on. He was used to it, though. "I'd just... Have you talked to Brian? Brendon says they were with a bunch of different families before him, because he was practically the only one who got them. I bet he's got good ideas."

"I've tried," said Susan, and Spencer couldn't think of anything to say to that. He put a dish in the fridge and then stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Yo, Spencer!" Brendon yelled from the other room. "We're having a Guitar Hero death match out here, you want in?"

 _Desperately_. "I uh, I have to go," said Spencer.

"Have fun," Susan smiled. Spencer fled.

It wasn't until they were safely in the car on the way home that Spencer hauled off and punched Brendon in the arm. "Owww," said Brendon plaintively, but he didn't claim it was unfair or unwarranted.

"Tell me you talked to Brian and we never have to do that again," Spencer ordered. "Because I won't. You'll have to take Ryan with you, and he'll spend the whole time staring at the wall."

"I talked to Brian," Brendon said, but he was doing the type of fidgeting that immediately gave it away as a half-truth. "I mean. I talked to him a little. What am I supposed to say? Your girlfriend is Stepford-creepy and no one likes her?"

"I liked her," said Spencer, feeling guilty. "She's nice."

Brendon sighed dramatically. "That's the _problem_ ," he said. "She's _nice_. We _like her_. But she's not... Oh my god, it's such a clusterfuck. Brian thinks he's solved all his girl-problems because he's dating someone who 'loves kids,' which is true. And Susan clearly thinks she's got this amazing catch because Brian's the kind of guy who literally takes kids in off the street. But neither of them are being honest about who Mikey and Gerard _are_ , and it's all going to end in tears, I know it."

Brendon was given to dramatic overstatement, but Spencer thought he was probably right about this. "You told Brian that?"

"I. Uh." Brendon squirmed again. "Which songs do you think we should play next week for the showcase?"

"You aren't changing the subject that easily," Spencer warned.

Brendon flailed a little, which was worrying while he was driving. Spencer grabbed his hand and put it back on the steering wheel. "Everything will totally work out in the end," Brendon said. Spencer wondered who he thought he was reassuring. "I told Ryan that one time. I think it's really true. Things are going to be fine."

Things, Spencer reflected darkly, only worked out when you _made_ them work out. And Brendon was getting nowhere down that road. "Do you think Brian's going to figure it out and dump Susan?"

"I hope so," said Brendon, and then winced. "I don't, really. I hope... Well, I hope they both figure out it's not right."

"That and a buck will get you a cup of coffee," said Spencer.

"What?"

Spencer had no idea when his father's folksy sayings had started coming out of his mouth without his permission. "Nothing," he sighed. "Just... I guess we'll have to wait and see, huh?"

"I guess so," Brendon echoed.

Spencer leaned back and tried to relax.


	3. Chapter 3

  
**Fall**

Brian was having a string of bad luck that was edging toward epic.

There was coffee all over his shirt, for starters, and he'd lost a stack of incredibly important papers sometime over the weekend. The strap on his bag had snapped in half when he'd gone to grab it, and he'd lost his keys three times somehow in one day. He didn't remember walking under any ladders or crossing the paths of any black cats, but here he fucking was, standing in the parking lot, staring at his car.

How did a car get a fucking flat tire just sitting in a parking lot all day?

In a minute, Brian thought bleakly, his cell would ring with news that Gerard had been expelled, or Mikey had set someone on fire, or Brendon had been hit by a car. It was just a matter of time.

"See you tomorrow," said Greta, and then stopped. "Oh, shit. Did you run over a nail or something?"

"I guess so," said Brian. "I'm gonna call Triple-A, see if they can send someone over. I just... _Fuck._ "

He stared at the car like he could make it fix itself. He couldn't deal with all this shit right now, he just couldn't. Maybe he'd just hop on the bus and go home and see if sleeping for twelve hours fixed anything.

"Do you have a spare tire?" Greta asked, putting her bag down.

Brian blinked. "I... yeah, in the trunk. It's like ten years old, but I guess it's still there. Triple-A will come and put it on and—"

"I have a jack," said Greta. "I can do it."

Brian must have been staring at her like a total idiot, because she flashed him a reassuring smile. "I used to do this all the time," she said. "Our van was always getting flat tires, and band boys are about as likely to change a tire as take a shower. Give me a second."

Brian felt like he should say something, or do something, but... Well, shit, he wasn't totally sure how to change a tire, either. It was one of those things he'd always had someone else around to do, but he didn't really want that someone else to be Greta. She worked for him. Plus, she was a girl.

Greta came back with a jack and grinned. "I'm gonna put this under," she said. "You take off the hubcap."

"I... Okay." Brian was glad he had something to do beside stand there and watch her. He took off his coat and then stared at the tire for a second. "I need a wrench for this, right? Fuck."

Greta made an exasperated noise. "I'm getting you a tool box for your birthday," she said. "Hang on." She went back over to her car, and Brian fished out his spare tire so he wouldn't just be standing around uselessly. "I'm giving you this," she said, handing him the wrench. "But with great power comes great responsibility, okay?"

"You got it, Spiderman," said Brian.

"Spider _woman_ ," Greta corrected. She took off her coat, too. Brian didn't think a little grandma dress was especially appropriate for changing tires, especially because when she knelt down by the jack he could see straight down the neckline. Fuck, that was number one on the list of things Good Employers Didn't Do. Never mind that she was totally hot—and his brain was insisting that watching her mess with a jack was even hotter.

She was way younger than he was, and she was his _employee_. Brian made himself look at the tire and start loosening the lug nuts. Incidentally, had the vernacular of tire-changing always been so dirty? Every time he thought the word 'jack' or 'nuts' he felt guilty again.

"Okay, let me," said Greta, "and then you can take those all the way off. You're having kind of a day, huh?"

"This is like, the nine-hundredth thing," said Brian. "I don't know what I did."

"Maybe you have a run of good luck coming up," said Greta. "Maybe this is all just set up for that."

"Well it sucks," said Brian. "Do you... Do you want me to do that?"

"I like getting sweaty," said Greta, and flashed him a grin.

Un-fucking-fair. Brian jerked his eyes away from where they were wandering down her dress again. Maybe he'd put out an office memo that no one could wear dresses to work anymore. It wouldn't be totally sexist, because there was that one time Gabe had shown up in what was totally a full-length Harry Potter-style dress robe.

"One time," said Greta, wiping her hands on her thighs, "my band broke up, and I got dumped the same day. That's a shit storm you don't recover from quickly, let me tell you."

"That sucks," said Brian. She moved back so he could get in and pull the lug nuts the rest of the way off. "That wasn't too long ago, either."

"It'll be a year in January." Greta sat down cross-legged in the parking lot and sighed. "I'm happier now, I swear I am, but... That just _sucked_."

Brian started pulling the old tire off. "Don't you miss the band? I'll be honest, since you made the office start working on a normal system, I'm a little afraid you're going to abandon us for a new band. But I know it gets under your skin—"

"I needed some time off," said Greta flatly. "Like... Maybe the rest of my life." She rolled her eyes a little. "My ex calls and bugs me sometimes. Don't worry, I'm not going to run away and join the circus again anytime soon."

"Good," said Brian, maybe a little too vehemently, because she looked at him funny, and he didn't know quite what to say. _I'm glad you came in and made the office work properly_ , or _You balance out Gabe's crazy with your total practicality_ , or _You look way hotter in that dress than Gabe would and it's basically the reason I show up at work every day_. Those all sounded like bad ideas, so he concentrated on dragging the tire off.

Greta grabbed the spare and pushed it on. "Was breaking up with Susan part of your streak of bad luck, or is that... Sorry, should I not bring that up? I know it was painful. And recent."

"God," said Brian. He was so fucking conflicted over that. "Mostly I feel bad that I don't feel worse," he confessed. "I should be upset, right? But I'm not, really."

"The rule of thumb," Greta said, putting her shoulder behind the tire to push it on better, "Is half the time you were dating to get over it. So if you two were dating for six months—"

"Four."

"—then you'd need three to get over her. Or two, in this case. There. Put the lug nuts back on and you're good to drive home, but you need to go buy a new tire tomorrow." She wiped her hands off and put them proudly on her hips. "See, I told you, I am awesome at this."

She was, and it was making Brian feel a little less comfortable with her than usual. He was pretty good at pretending Greta was just one of the guys at the office, the same way Ryan had been, or Gabe was. But at the moment there was practically a neon flashing light over her head that said Hot Competent Girl. It was unfortunate that she was so much younger than he was. And it was unfortunate that she worked for him. And it was _really_ unfortunate that he'd promised himself never to bring home another woman again, not if it was going to fuck with Gerard and Mikey like Susan had.

She'd seemed like _such_ a good idea at the time. Just what the doctor ordered; she was motherly, she liked kids, she was excited at the idea of dating a single father. But it had all been totally wrong, and Mikey was still in a huff over it, and Gerard was—well, Gerard was behaving strangely and had been since before Susan—but at least part of it was that he hadn't known how to talk to Brian about it. They'd gotten so much better in the past couple of years; Gerard was less likely to go and hide in his room when he was upset, and Brian even dared to think maybe Gerard trusted him with most things. Not everything, though. There were still places where Gerard was a totally blank wall.

Greta waved her hand in front of Brian's face. "Hey," she said. "Are you okay to drive? You seem a little bit out of it."

"I'm okay," Brian said. He shrugged. "I'm tired. Things have been stressful. Spencer called yesterday. The boys are in the studio and he sounded... Stressed out. I might need to go check on them."

Greta frowned. "Of course it's stressful; they have what, three weeks left to get the whole thing finished, and they've never done this before."

"Ryan's a perfectionist," Brian agreed, "and Brendon wants to make him happy." He shook his head. "I'm waiting for Spencer to call and tell me the whole thing's fallen apart."

"You," said Greta with a smile, "are a pessimist, and you shouldn't be. They're a good band, and they're good kids, and this part is always stressful. But they're going to be awesome, and when the album goes platinum you'll feel silly for ever worrying about it."

"And what if it doesn't," said Brian grimly, "and they all end up hating each other? Half that band belongs to my family. Shit, they all do, honestly. What am I supposed to do then?"

She play-punched his shoulder. "Bands break up, dude. They have hard feelings. Then they fucking get over themselves. But these aren't some drunken assholes you picked up out of a club who can't wait to get fucked up on coke and orgies. These are kids who want to be a band more than anything else, so they're going to make it work. Smile, Brian. You have money in the bank, here."

"What did I do before we hired you?" Brian asked. He couldn't imagine Ryan or Gabe giving a speech like that.

"Fuck if I know," said Greta. She patted his arm. "See you tomorrow. And dude, call me if you need someone to come and fix your life again, okay? I'm pretty indispensable." She winked.

Okay, that was reason number four he couldn't fuck around with her, even if she were interested, which she shouldn't be. She _was_ indispensable at work. What if he screwed up and she quit? The whole thing would go to hell.

And wait, when had he started considering that like a thing that could actually happen? What the fuck. "'Night," he said.

He watched her ass the whole way across the parking lot. He was so, so screwed.

  
\\\\\

Brendon, it turned out, _loved_ getting band pictures taken. They had this photographer come in one day, when the recording was barely half done, and take all these ridiculous pictures. Ryan wanted everyone to wear crazy suit jackets and shit he'd picked up at the Salvation Army, and they all looked totally stupid—especially Spencer, who was always taller than Ryan thought he was, so his arms stuck like three extra inches out of the sleeves—but it made Ryan happy. Not much had made Ryan happy since they'd started recording.

"So, are you the front man?" asked the photographer, waving Brendon back toward the wall.

Brendon gave him a blank look and then turned back to Ryan for a second. "I... I guess we don't have one?" he said uncertainly.

"It's you," said Ryan, crossing his arms. It was cold outside, and he was wearing two scarves. "You sing and everything. You talk to the crowd."

"But you wrote all the... Okay," Brendon shrugged. "Sure." He grinned into the camera and then puckered up for a picture that was going to be truly, epically stupid. Spencer was glad it was Brendon, not him, who was posing.

Jon leaned over to Spencer and whispered, "He fucking loves this."

Spencer was glad; Brendon deserved to love something about the process of making the album. So far recording had been a little painful, and Spencer was worried that Brendon was faking his cheer.

Jon elbowed Spencer in the side. "I can hear you worrying," he whispered. "Dude. Chill."

"Sorry," Spencer muttered back.

"Can I get all four of you?" said the photographer.

"No," said Ryan, and everyone turned to look at him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and twitched. "I don't want... We don't want that picture, okay, where the band stands in front of a brick wall and looks sullen. That's not us. We're not gonna do a video, either, where like, a basement fills up with water while we're playing."

The photographer looked taken aback. "Ooookay," he agreed. "So how about the four of you dressed all crazy sitting under the trees over there?"

Ryan looked at Spencer, and Spencer shrugged. "Sure," said Ryan.

"I'm climbing a tree," Brendon announced, and took off at a run.

Jon laughed and took off after him. "Not if I get there first."

Spencer hip checked Ryan gently. He'd learned not to really bump into Ryan, because Ryan was bony and it could be painful. "You holding up?" he said.

Ryan nodded tightly. "Sure," he said. "It's nice to get out of the studio."

"Yeah. The songs sound good," said Spencer hopefully. Ryan looked down at his hands and stuffed them in his pockets. "And then we're touring."

Ryan nodded. He'd been hugging himself a lot lately, which was never a really good sign. Ahead of them, on the other side of the parking lot, Brendon was halfway up a tree, and Jon was hanging on his leg. Brendon was laughing hard enough that it looked like he might fall, and Spencer was a tiny bit worried he'd break his neck.

"Touring is gonna be great," said Spencer determinedly. A couple of weeks after they finished the album they were off for a six-week tour, opening first out of four bands, and Spencer was secretly dreading it. It had been one thing to tour with friends, but people might actually _come_ to these shows, and Ryan had been kind of ... off, lately.

"Brendon likes it," said Ryan.

Spencer nudged him again. "I like it, too," he pointed out, which was mostly true. Ryan shrugged. Spencer clenched and unclenched his fists. "Are you gonna make it through a whole tour?"

"I mean, the last one," Ryan shrugged. "It got better as it went on."

Spencer sighed. The thing about Ryan was that he was the captain of the boat, as much as the band had one. He wasn't the boss, exactly, but the songs were like, 75 percent his and 15 percent Jon's and a little bit Spencer and Brendon. The name was Ryan's and the look was Ryan's and the lyrics were Ryan's. The captain needed to decide, though, if he was going to be a total dictator or completely unsure of himself.

At least when they got out on tour Brendon could handle it. Brendon had loved touring like nothing else; he liked traveling, he liked eating at truck stops, he liked seeing a new city every night. He lived and breathed for the audience.

Ryan... didn't. Ryan had gone from "totally petrified" to "willing to walk on stage without throwing up" over the course of their six tour dates, but performing in an _actual_ club with other _actual_ bands was going to be different, and Spencer was already penciling in all the things he needed to keep an eye out for. Ryan stopped eating when he was nervous, and he couldn't sleep when he was stressed out, but he hated talking about it. Spencer was going to end up catching him sneaking around in the middle of the night. Brendon slept like the dead; he'd never wake up if Ryan did.

Ryan frowned at Brendon, who was halfway up the tree. "If he falls to his death," said Ryan, "You or Jon are gonna have to sing."

"You could sing," Spencer offered. Brendon laughed and his hand slipped off the branch and he landed mostly on Jon, knocking both of them to the ground.

Ryan just glared at him. "I'm not gonna sing," he said. "Don't be stupid."

"You're stupid."

" _You're_ stupid."

"You're both stupid," said Jon. "Knock it off." He shoved Brendon off and got to his feet.

"Ryan," Brendon yelled, still lying on the ground. "Help me up. I'm broken, Ryan." He flailed.

Ryan's mouth twitched, because he was trying not to laugh. "Get yourself up," he said. "You're the one who wanted to climb the tree."

"Ryyyyyan," Brendon moaned. "I caaaaan't."

Ryan sighed and leaned down, and Brendon leveraged his weight against Ryan's to drag him down, too. Ryan was taller, but Brendon was more solid, and Ryan was laughing while he slapped Brendon's hands away, trying to get back to his feet.

"Monkeyboy, let go," Spencer ordered, kicking at Brendon, and Brendon grabbed his shoe and yanked it off. Spencer started swearing.

Brendon threw the shoe the other way. "Jon," he yelled, sitting up. "Keep away!"

"Oh no, motherfucker, that's my fucking _shoe_ ," Spencer yelled, but Jon had already run over and grabbed it, laughing. He tried to hold it over his head, but Spencer was taller than he was, and a lot more ruthless about tackling. He wrenched it away from Jon, while Ryan dragged Brendon to his feet, kicking and wailing about how Ryan was cheater.

"Mine," Spencer growled, smacking Jon on the shoulder with his shoe.

Jon grinned. "Yeah," he said, and fuck, now was not the time; the photographer was snapping pictures of the whole stupid thing.

"Dude, no," said Spencer, jerking his head toward the camera.

Ryan noticed at the same time Spencer had, and he almost dropped Brendon back on his ass, he let go so fast. "This isn't," he said quickly. "You can't use those."

"It's just you guys goofing around," the photographer said. "It's great. The girls will go crazy."

"But," Ryan started, and then stopped uncertainly. Brendon finally got back on his feet and put his hands on his hips, looking back and forth between Spencer and Ryan. Spencer was pretty sure he was the only one who was picking up what Ryan was saying—the pictures were going to end up looking a lot like boyfriends hanging out, not boys in a band being manly together. "But that's not..." Ryan said, and glanced guiltily at Brendon and then down at his feet.

Spencer put his shoe back on. "It's fine," he said. "We'll just take more." He made sure he caught Ryan's eye, because they hadn't even discussed _discussing_ this; were they or weren't they a band that was made up of couples? Shit.

"Then I'm climbing the tree again," Brendon said, because when he didn't know what was going on he always did something stupid to distract Ryan.

"No way, Mighty Mouse," Jon said, grabbing him around the waist. "You're gonna stand right here on the ground with the rest of us." Brendon pouted.

Spencer tried to catch Ryan's eye again, but Ryan was deliberately ignoring him. Spencer sighed to himself and filed that away under yet another crisis he was sure was coming.

  
\\\\\

"You suck," Bob announced. He flopped on the bean bag chair Frank's mom had gotten for the basement. "You suck like... A vaccuum."

"Yeah, well you suck like jet propulsion unit in reverse," said Ray.

"You both suck like the gaping void of space," Gerard assured them cheerfully. "Seriously, aren't you embarrassed to even show your faces in this basement?"

Bob threw his cards on the floor in disgust. "There is no such thing as cutthroat Uno, Gerard. I don't care what you say."

"That," Gerard said, "is because you suck so very hard at it."

Frank had a million cards still in his hands, and he glared at Gerard suspiciously. "I think that double reverse draw twenty was cheating."

"That's because you _also_ suck at cutthroat Uno," Gerard said.

Ray kicked Bob politely in the shoulder. "I'm going home," he said, "because Gerard is a fucking cheater. You want a ride?"

Bob sat up and glared suspiciously. "That thing is not a car, Ray. It's a metal deathtrap that's going to kill us all."

"Not," Ray said confidently, "if we keep sacrificing virgins to it."

"For the last time, I am not a virgin, and you are not sacrificing me to anything," Bob grumped.

Ray shrugged. "My car, my rules. You could have gotten a job over the summer—"

"I will die before I tutor kids in an unairconditioned room in July."

"—but you didn't, so you have to ride in my car, and if we die it's your fault. C'mon. See you later, Gee. Bye, Frank."

Frank waved absently, still frowning at his cards. Ray and Bob vanished up the stairs and shut the door, and Gerard stared at the horrible old couch for a minute, picking at the threads where they were coming undone.

"Mikey didn't want to come?" said Frank. It was the third time he'd asked, like he just couldn't believe Mikey would turn down the wonder that was Frank's basement.

Gerard shrugged and flipped open his sketchpad. "I told you. He's hanging out with Pete and Patrick and Alicia. They're forming a cabal or something. Maybe a terrorist organization. I can't even tell." He had a couple of sketches of Frank around the bottom corners of the page, so he flipped to a new, blank sheet.

"Mikey's weird," Frank announced, and because it was Frank, Gerard didn't punch him. "Is he... Do you think he's trying to steal Alicia away from Pete?"

The idea of Mikey trying to steal anyone away from anyone else was totally outside the realm of Gerard's imagination. "I know he likes her," said Gerard uncomfortably. "And she likes him. But he's not... I don't know, 9th grade is weird. I think he's gonna get over it. I hope."

"And if not, then he and Pete can fight a duel for her honor at dawn," Frank said. "I don't even know who'd win. They're both equally bad at doing guy stuff like hitting, but I think Pete would at least be enthusiastic about it. Mikey would just stand there and try to glare him to death."

"Mikey's not fighting with Pete, Pete's his best friend." Gerard was clutching his pencil a little too tightly, and it hurt his hand. He didn't want to think about anyone fighting with anyone, not while he felt so weird about everything with Frank. Best friends didn't fight. Best friends weren't inappropriate about each other.

"Yeah, well, friends fight sometimes," Frank said, like he could hear Gerard thinking. "Remember last week? Bob locked me in a closet."

"That wasn't fighting, that was you being fucking annoying," said Gerard. "Bob is a saint."

Frank laughed and rolled around on the floor for a second. "I am not that annoying!" he said gleefully. "Right? Right, Gee?" He climbed up on the couch and stuck his face right in Gerard's face, still laughing like an idiot.

Gerard didn't really want Frank's face that close to his. It made him feel weirder than usual. "Frank, knock it off," he said, and tried to shrug away.

Frank was all hands, and he was clinging to Gerard's arm. "C'mon, seriously, I am not that... Hey. Hey, Gerard?" He pulled on Gerard's arm until Gerard turned his head and looked at him. Frank was kneeling on the couch, holding Gerard's arm with both hands. His weird, punky hair was falling in his face, and his eyes were all wide and serious, and it made Gerard swallow hard a couple of times, because... _Frank_.

"What?" Gerard asked. His voice was all scratchy.

"My birthday's in a couple of weeks," said Frank. He still hadn't let go of Gerard's arm, and Gerard tried to shrug him off again, but he couldn't get himself to work. "You know what I want?"

"I," said Gerard, and stopped again. "You want a new skateboard," he said. Frank's face was seriously like, an inch away from his. It was _weird_. Gerard's heart was pounding, and he hoped Frank couldn't tell.

"Well, yeah, but that's not what I want from you," said Frank. He laughed again, his almost-nervous giggle. Gerard's stomach flopped over. "I thought maybe we could... I mean, I'm gonna be 17, right?"

"You thought," Gerard said, and his voice faded out. He cleared his throat. The air felt charged, and he didn't know why. "You thought we could what?"

Frank tilted his head consideringly. "I thought," he repeated. "We could."

He leaned forward and kissed Gerard.

Gerard was so startled he just froze, didn't move at all. Frank's mouth was pressed against his, and Gerard's mouth was closed tightly because he couldn't seem to unfreeze himself. He didn't _want_ to unfreeze himself. His whole body was made of steel, and he couldn't bend it at all.

What the _fuck_ did Frank think he was doing?

Gerard's first, wild thought was that Frank had figured out Gerard's crush somehow and was making fun. But that was mean, even for Frank, and Gerard didn't really believe he would do that. His second idea was that Frank was just fucking around and that—if that were true—if Frank was kidding, Gerard would _die._

Gerard jerked back like he'd been shocked. "Frank," he said. "What the fuck?"

Frank sat back, blinking. He was still smiling, but he looked puzzled. "What do you mean, what the fuck?" he asked. "I'm... That's called _kissing_ , Gerard." He laughed a little and let go of Gerard's arm, like Gerard was the one who was acting crazy.

Gerard scooted back as far away from Frank as he could get on the couch. He pulled his knees up and crossed his arms. "I know," Gerard snapped. He wished his voice weren't shaking. "I meant... Why would you _do_ that?"

Frank's smile flickered and faded. "Because... I don't know," he said, and he crossed his arms, too. "Because it's us. It's not a big deal."

It was a huge deal, at least to Gerard. Frank sounded uncertain, which was good, because Gerard felt pretty goddamn uncertain, too. "You can't fuck around like that," said Gerard. His voice still wasn't working right, it was too low, too scratchy, and his throat felt all closed off and choked.

"I... Sorry," said Frank. "I didn't think you'd freak out." He sounded really confused, and a little hopeful that Gerard was just going to shrug the whole thing off.

Clearly Frank had _no idea_ just how badly he was fucking around with Gerard's emotions here. He could feel his mouth tingling where Frank had been touching him, and his heart was still pounding crazily in his ears. "Of course I freaked out," Gerard almost-yelled. "You can't just... Jesus, Frank, it's not like that!" he stopped and made himself take a couple of deep, ragged breaths. His eyes were burning like he was about to burst in to tears. Why was Frank so fucking _stupid_ and _oblivious_?

"I'm sorry," Frank said again. He sounded like he was on the brink of tears, too, and Gerard was sort of meanly glad. "It's just us, it's not a big... I thought... Never mind. We can just pretend like it never happened."

Maybe Frank could. Gerard couldn't. He was going to fall asleep thinking about it every day for the rest of his life. "I'm going home," said Gerard, and stuffed his sketchbook in his bag.

"Gee," said Frank. "Come on. I was playing around! That's why you love me, right?"

That was the worst thing possible. Frank was just kidding, he was kidding about how much Gerard loved him, and Gerard was going to go home and throw himself out a window or something. "You can't play about that," said Gerard in a strangled voice, and ran up the stairs before he burst in to tears right in front of Frank.

Gerard _hated_ that he was the kind of person who couldn't pretend things were okay when they weren't. Mrs. Iero took one look at him and said, "Honey, what—" but Gerard shoved past her and out the door. He wasn't going to cry in front of her and have her ask Frank what had happened or worse, call Brian and ask Brian if they were having a fight. He'd done _such_ a good job of pretending everything was okay and everything was normal for the past months—it felt like a million years—and now Frank had ruined everything. Nothing was ever going to be right again. How was he ever going to look at Frank now and pretend things were normal? Frank had kissed him, and he'd been kidding, and he didn't even know why it was so awful.

Kissing Frank should have been the best ten seconds of Gerard's life, and instead it was the worst.

He ran all the way home, sniffling as hard as he could so he didn't start crying, but he knew his eyes were red and burning when he shoved open the door. Brian was sitting on the couch. He got as far as, "Hey, Gerard—" before Gerard ran upstairs and threw his bag on the floor and slammed the door.

Brian was about two steps behind him. He knocked on the door a couple of times. Gerard put his back to it and sat on the floor, knees drawn up, head down. He wanted everyone to leave him alone. He wanted to be little enough for Brian to hug everything better again.

"Gerard, what happened?" Brian asked. "Are you okay? Did something happen? I swear to god if you even think about going on the roof I'll... I'll... Gerard! Open the door."

Gerard hadn't really considered the roof, and now he didn't want to move anyway. His shoulders were shaking and his cheeks were wet, but he wasn't officially crying. "I'm okay," he said, muffled by his knees.

"What happened?" Brian asked. "Gee, c'mon. Talk to me."

"I can't," said Gerard. "I can't... Everything's wrong, okay? You can't help."

"Tell me what's up, maybe I can try." Brian sounded less frantic, and more resigned.

"You really, really can't," Gerard promised. No one on earth could fix this. Everything was broken, and ruined, and the one time in his whole life he'd gotten to kiss Frank he'd been frozen and awkward and he wanted to _die._

"What if I get Brendon? Or Mikey?"

Gerard hadn't told Brendon about Frank. Brendon wouldn't understand. Brendon was off with his perfect stupid boyfriend and his perfect stupid band and his perfect stupid life. Brendon had never gotten that close to everything he wanted and then had it all pulled away and sat around, crying and feeling sorry for himself.

He hadn't told Mikey because there were some things Gerard couldn't tell even him.

"No," Gerard sniffled, and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "I can't. Go away, Brian. Please."

"No," said Brian. Gerard could hear him sigh and sit down in the hall. "When shit happens we deal with it. Right? Didn't we agree on that, like, years ago?"

"This is different. This is the end of the world."

There was a pause. "Don't... don't jump on me, okay," said Brian slowly. "But... Is this about Frank?"

Gerard's head jerked up so fast he almost banged it into the door. "What?" he croaked. "How do you—No!"

"Because if something happened with Frank, Gee, I promise, we all love you no matter... I mean, no matter what happens, okay?"

Gerard's panic faded a little bit. Brian knew, but he didn't _know_. "It's nothing like that," he said. "It's not... I..." He hiccupped and wiped his nose again.

"I'm gonna get Mikey," said Brian.

"No! Don't. I'm..." Gerard didn't know how he'd explain any of this to Mikey. He didn't want to. Mikey was hanging out with Pete more and more, but he was still friends with Frank. Mikey would tell Bob and Ray. "Just go away, Brian, please. _Please_."

"No way, dude. You're stuck with me."

He could hear Brian settle down on the hallway carpet. It was nice, the way Brian wouldn't leave, but it didn't help. Everything was still ruined, and no one could ever, ever fix it. Gerard put his head back down and cried.

\\\\\

Brendon's voice cracked for the third time in a row, and he rolled his eyes and grabbed a bottle of water. He looked a little like he wanted to punch someone, maybe himself.

Ryan's lips were pressed together in the tight line Spencer recognized as meaning he was ten seconds away from a serious shit fit. Spencer's stomach lurched, because that was bad news for everyone. He took off his headphones with one hand, holding his drumsticks in the other.

"Do you think," Ryan said, in his incredibly pinched voice, "You could maybe _not_ do that this time?"

The look on Brendon's face wasn't hurt so much as surprised and tired. Fuck, they were all tired. Ryan hadn't even raised his voice, but he still sounded a little scraped out, like just getting the words through his mouth had made his throat hurts.

"I..." Brendon started, and put a hand on his hip. "I'm not doing it _on purpose._ Are you _kidding_?"

"I keep telling you, it needs to be ..." started Ryan, and waved a hand. In the booth, the engineer's eyebrows were creeping up his forehead. "You know. God. I _told_ you, the lyrics have to sound more like..." He trailed off again.

"Yeah," Brendon shot back incredulously. "As soon as I'm done losing my voice I'll try to make it more—" he waved his hand around in a mean imitation of Ryan "—no problem. What the _fuck_."

"Guys," Spencer started. "Let's take five minutes." This was the third time in three days, and Spencer's neck was sore from having his shoulders so tight all the time.

"We don't have five minutes," snapped Ryan. "We have one week. One fucking week, and you're _still_ not—"

Brendon had bags under his eyes that Spencer could see from the other side of the room. He yelled, "Maybe if you could give me a _single fucking adjective_ —"

Ryan's face went totally blank, and he turned and walked out.

Spencer was going to throw up. He hadn't slept in, Christ, three days, between trying to convince Ryan that the songs were good enough, and Brendon that they were performing them well enough, and the engineer and the producer that they weren't all about to kill each other. "Jon," said Spencer, hoping that Jon would volunteer to go after Ryan, but Jon still had his headphones on, like nothing was going on at all.

"Huh?" said Jon. "What?" On the other side of the room, Brendon was biting his lip hard enough to bleed, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Spencer stared at him for a second. Jon was fucking infuriating sometimes. "Nothing," Spencer snapped. "Fuck, Jon." He threw his drumsticks on the floor and ran after Ryan.

Ryan was in the hallway, staring at the soda vending machine like it had all the answers in the universe. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest and his face was totally, utterly blank.

"Ryan," Spencer started tiredly. "Ryan. That was mean."

"Not as mean as people will be when they hear the music and it sounds wrong," said Ryan. He sounded so calm, it wasn't fair.

"That's your _boyfriend_ you just yelled at like he was some total stranger," Spencer snapped.

Ryan turned to him. It was the same distant stare he'd used as a kid, when he'd shown up at Spencer's house with a pillow under one arm and his backpack on the other shoulder, announcing like he didn't care, "My dad's at the ER. Can I stay here?" Spencer wanted to hug him and punch him the face in equal amounts.

"He's not," said Ryan, like that made perfect sense. "He can't be. I can't be in the studio with my boyfriend Brendon, when I need to be in there with our lead singer Brendon. They have to be different people, Spencer, or it won't work. Trust me, I've thought about this a lot."

Spencer's best friend was so fucking crazy and stupid sometimes. "Okay," said Spencer, gritting his teeth. "So he's just some kid we picked up who happens to sing pretty well and be in the band. He's still sensitive as fuck, and you're still being a dick. Yelling at Brendon's not getting you anywhere, you dumbass."

Ryan just kept staring. "He's not doing it right," he said.

"I don't know what the fuck you want from him, and I practically speak fluent Ryan," Spencer said. "You have to figure out a way to tell us what's in your brain. You don't get to be a musical genius if you can't explain it."

There was the tiniest tremor in Ryan's shoulders, which Spencer only caught because of years of practice. "You guys have degrees in this," Ryan said, in that same flat voice. "You're supposed to know."

Spencer's mouth dropped open a little bit. "Are you... Are you _kidding_?" he said incredulously. "Because we went and—You could have. You did half a semester, you _dropped out_ , Ryan!"

Ryan's shoulders hitched up almost imperceptibly. "You guys studied this shit," he insisted. "You can't put me in charge and then expect me to be as smart as you are about it. You asked me to write the music, you wanted me to... I can't, Spence. I don't know how."

"Oh my god, Ryan," Spencer said. "You are so totally fucked up." He felt incredibly guilty for not putting all this together before; three weeks in the studio with Ryan getting steadily more and more withdrawn and Spencer had somehow missed all the flags Ryan was waving at him. Shit. He needed to keep better track of Ryan.

"I know," Ryan said. It was so plaintive and quiet that Spencer couldn't be mad at him, not even on Brendon's behalf, not when Ryan _knew_ he was being unreasonable.

Spencer sighed and pulled Ryan in to a hug. He'd gotten taller than Ryan, and it was nice, being able to hug Ryan like Ryan deserved to be hugged; all enveloping and warm and serious. "You're being an asshole," said Spencer softly. "You have to knock that off."

"I know," Ryan repeated.

Spencer didn't let go. "You can get away with this for maybe one more day," he said. "And then Brendon's going to start feeling really, really hurt. He'll forgive you anything, Ryan, but that doesn't mean you can be mean like this." Ryan nodded against Spencer's shoulder. "I'm serious," Spencer said. "You have to treat him like a person whether you're pretending he's not your boyfriend or whatever the fuck, okay?"

"Okay," said Ryan.

Spencer didn't totally believe him. "Is this 'okay' like when I told you that I was planning to go for Halloween as Batman and you said okay, and then you told my mom that you were going as Batman and I wanted to be Robin, and made her buy me a Robin suit?"

"You have to get over that eventually," said Ryan, which wasn't an answer.

"I am _never_ getting over that. Why the fuck should I have to be Robin just because I'm a year younger than you are?" Ryan laughed, and it was the best sound Spencer had heard all day. "You okay for a little while? I'm gonna go check on Brendon."

Ryan nodded jerkily. "I can... I need to decide on a soda," he said. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Give me five," said Spencer, and sighed. Five minutes should be enough to make sure Brendon was okay.

He got waylaid by the engineer. "You guys gonna be good to go soon? Because we need another run through, and then that one—" he pointed to Brendon, who was leaning tiredly on Jon "—needs to do the vocals, and then the backing vocals, and then the harmonies."

"Yeah," said Spencer, adding that to his mental list of things to do today. Someday soon he was going to sleep. It would be heavenly.

"Are you guys gonna be able to pull this together?" The engineer looked a little worried, so Spencer put on his best serious face.

"We're fine," he said firmly. "I'm gonna go handle it, and then we'll start up again, okay?"

"Do I have time to get a coffee?"

Spencer nodded and bit his lip before he could beg the guy to bring him back a coffee, too. If he had coffee Brendon would want one, and the last thing they needed was a wired, exhausted Brendon.

"Okay," said Spencer, walking back into the rehearsal space. "So. That sucked."

Brendon made a little noise and pressed harder in to Jon's side. "I didn't mean to yell like that. I just... I'm losing my voice and I don't know what he wants," Brendon said plaintively, and he was pretty clearly at the end of his rope because no one in the band was better at pretending that things were fine than Brendon.

"You didn't do anything wrong," said Spencer. "Ryan's crazy, okay?"

"I know the song's about his dad, and he wants it a certain way, but I don't know what it is because he won't tell me, and I feel weird enough singing about his dad when he never talks about his dad, and I get that that's why he's freaking out, but I—" Brendon started. He only stopped because Jon put a hand on his shoulder and started massaging a little. Brendon leaned in to it and closed his eyes.

Spencer was so fucking jealous of how Brendon just demanded—and got—physical affection. "He either has to find words for it or shut the fuck up," Spencer said. "Seriously, Brendon, he's being a dick."

"I know, but... I didn't want to make him upset about it," said Brendon, and yawned. "I'm gonna go apologize."

Spencer made a frustrated noise. "You don't owe him one," he said, but Brendon just shrugged and slipped out.

Spencer put his hands on his hips. His neck hurt like fuck. He looked at Jon, who was sitting and noodling around on his bass. "Dude," said Spencer helplessly. "Did you... what are we supposed to _do_?"

Jon shrugged. "It'll work out," he said. "You worry too much. In a week we'll be done and they'll get over it."

"But what if they don't? What if it gets worse? What if—" he started, and made himself stop. He didn't want to unload his millions of worries on Jon, not when Jon seemed so oblivious to everything that might go wrong. Someone ought to be enjoying the recording process. Someone ought to get to be happy about how things were going.

"C'mere," said Jon, and Spencer walked over, feeling stiff and unhappy. "Things are gonna be fine, Spence, I promise. You just need to relax." He put his bass down and tugged Spencer into his lap. What Spencer wanted was to bury his face in Jon's neck like Brendon did, and just sit there until the whole world went away. That wasn't who he was, though. That wasn't what he did. He kept his shoulders square and tried not to look too fretful.

"Someone needs to talk to Ryan," Spencer said.

Jon nodded. "You did. He'll come around. He's always been high strung, right? There's a lot of pressure on him right now. So just... Just chill. Okay?"

It was incredibly unhelpful being told to 'just chill,' but that was Jon's usual advice, so Spencer didn't feel like he had much room to complain. "I hate it when they fight," said Spencer. "We never fight like that."

"That's because I'm not as crazy as Ryan," said Jon, and grinned. "I'm pretty much the most awesome boyfriend in the world. And I'm the mellowest dude you know."

Spencer smiled back because he couldn't help himself; Jon's grin was irresistible. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "You're okay. I guess you can stick around."

"You guess?" Jon wrapped his arms around Spencer's neck. "Maybe you need some persuading."

"Maybe I do," Spencer agreed. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Jon's.

"I have some ideas."

"Yeah? You should tell me about them."

"I can be very persuasive."

"Prove it."

The engineer cleared his throat, and Spencer jumped. He had totally forgotten that the mics were on and that that guy was coming back. "Hey," said the engineer. "You getting started again soon?"

Spencer's face was pretty red. "Um," he said. "Yeah. We just... Give us a second." He gave Jon a glare that was meant to chastise him for getting Spencer in trouble, but it just made Jon grin in return. "I'm gonna go get them—" he started, but Jon was a little bit reluctant to let him stand up again, and Jon could be awfully determined and handsy.

"We're back!" Brendon announced, bouncing in. He was dragging Ryan along by the hand. Brendon had his insanely determined cheerful expression on. Spencer sighed to himself and wondered if Brendon would make it through ten more takes, or however long they had. He looked a little like he might fall asleep standing up. If he didn't, what was Ryan going to say?

The second they crossed through the door Ryan threw the engineering booth a look and yanked his hand away from Brendon. Spencer didn't miss the flash of confusion on Brendon's face before he pasted a smile back on and said, "Who missed me? Everyone? I thought so."

"He's like a cartoon character," Spencer said under his breath, and Jon laughed.

The engineer sighed. "You guys ready to go?" he said. "Time is money, here."

"Yeah, sorry." Spencer had to smack Jon's hand away before he could stand up. His shirt was all rucked up and he hadn't actually been doing anything, but he felt a little guilty anyway. "Okay, so we're running through it again and then Brendon's gonna do some of the harmony stuff. Right?"

"Right," Brendon agreed, with his most brilliant smile. That probably meant he was worried about Ryan, but Spencer had decided to try and take a page out of Jon's book, and worry about them both less.

"Okay," said Spencer, grabbing his sticks off the floor. "One more time, you guys."

\\\\\\\

> from: spencer.smith87@gmail.com  
> to: bschechter@cobrastarshipproductions.com
> 
>  _yo brian! we r leaving tomorrow which is okay except brendon says that there is trouble and mikey is upset and gerard is upset and its about something different and he has threatened to run away to go check on them but we r not 2 worried because he is little. jon can sit on him or something. jon says wassup. we like the tshirts that u emailed us about but ryan doesnt like the third one he says it doesnt fit the mood. i dont know what the mood is. ryan also says to tell u the band is “teetering on the precipice of existentialism,“ but i dont know what that means. i will get him some coffee and see if that helps it usually does. mostly thank u for sending zack with us again he is cool dont tell him i said that. u said the demos sounded okay and the real thing is coming out in like a month we r very excited. we will see u in 2 months when we r done touring we r very excited and u r the best! call me if u need anything from us. we voted and i am in charge of everything pretty much. bye!_

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," said Brian, shaking his head at his computer. It was almost eleven o'clock at night, and he really should have been home. His eyes were starting to burn from reading illiterate band emails.

Greta flounced in. She didn't normally flounce, so Brian looked up, a little startled.

"I need an assistant," Greta announced, sitting down in the office chair. "I'm doing the work of like, six people right now."

Brian grimaced guiltily. "Yeah," he said. "I think we got kind of excited at having someone around who knew what they were doing and started handing everything to you."

"I'm not staying until midnight anymore, after this week," Greta said. She tried to look firm and ended up mostly looking adorable. Brian bit his lip trying not to look at her low-cut dress. "This is the last week. After this week I'm done."

Brian nodded. "Fair enough. Okay. I can... Shit, I can stay, if you can't, and we'll—"

"Brian." Greta crossed her arms. "You're not listening. You need to hire someone else."

"But that takes forever, and you shouldn't have to stay, and we—" He despaired of having time to look at resumes and have people come in and figuring out who wouldn't be scared of Gabe.

"It only takes forever because you dither. Tell me I can hire someone." She looked at him expectantly.

Brian started to object, and then shrugged. He was tired as fuck, and he needed Greta, and if this was what Greta needed then fine. "You can hire someone," he said.

"Awesome. I'll start looking tomorrow, we'll have someone by next week."

The smile she flashed him was dazzling, but probably not a very good excuse for giving her whatever she wanted, whenever she asked. That was what he wanted to do, and he felt guilty again. "You'll... You're just going to do it? You don't need me for anything?"

Greta looked pityingly at him. "I think I can handle it. Do you want to approve them?"

"I... No."

"Awesome. Because I can do it in about half the time it'll take you just to think about doing it. You trust me, right?"

He did, but he couldn't articulate why very well without starting in on how amazing she was, and that would make him sound a little scary. "Sure," Brian agreed.

She beamed a little more. "That's the right answer." Since he had deliberately set out to stop noticing how cute she was, she had only gotten cuter, and it killed him a little bit inside sometimes, the way she sat around the office wearing adorable dresses and smiling and making things work. He'd once seen her roll up a piece of paper and smack Gabe on the nose with it. He spent a lot of time thinking about idly later, while he was supposed to be listening to clients on the phone.

"I don't mind staying late, though," Brian said. "I've been kind of hiding out at work."

Greta's eyebrows went up. "What?" she said. "Why?"

Brian grimaced. "Gerard's being... himself. He won't talk to me, and he doesn't want to go to school, and he keeps threatening to drop out. He hasn't even told Mikey what's going on. It's just easier if I'm not home."

Greta frowned. "He probably needs you around more."

"I know. I know! He says he's not going to Frank's birthday party this weekend, which... Normally Frank's birthday party is a national holiday around our house. I think they had a fight, but I don't know about what. I have no idea what to do with him."

"Awww, that poor kid," said Greta. "That's hard. He'll get over it, though. Eighteen sucks. Actually everything under, like, twenty sucks. Things start looking up from there."

Brian was so grateful for her determined, logical optimism. "What would I do without you?" he said again.

"I seriously, seriously don't know." She waggled her eyebrows and he laughed. And then Greta frowned, just a little and crossed her arms. "Brian. I—Can I ask you something?"

His stomach dropped, because that never boded well. If she was about to quit, or to tell him he was a fucked up dad, he would go home and lock himself in a dark room for a week like Gerard was always threatening to do. "I guess," he said uncertainly.

Greta leaned forward. Her mouth was quirked up, just a little bit. "Were you checking me out? Last week, I mean. Well, and today," she said.

Brian was dizzy with guilt and horror. "I—No, I just—Sorry, I won't—I didn't mean," he started, falling all over himself and totally failing to put together a sentence of any kind.

"Because I thought maybe you were, but then you didn't say anything to me, so." She shrugged. "I wondered."

She didn't look like she was about to quit and storm out in a huff, but god, what if she _was_? Brian had no idea how to apologize for this. "What would I say?" Brian asked blankly. "Hey there, hot employee, I'm your skeevy boss?"

Greta laughed. "Okay, maybe not _that_ ," she said. She paused for just a second. "I was hoping for something more like, 'Wanna go get coffee sometime?'"

"We get coffee every day," said Brian, and then stopped again, because Greta was looking at him, and ... Wait. _What_ had she just said? "I'm way older than you," he said, because his mind had gone blank. "And I'm your boss."

She sighed. "I was hoping you had some really irrational objection, like you didn't like my socks. Then I could just change them."

Brian almost couldn't swallow, because his heart was pounding so hard his throat felt like it might close off. "Are you... Wait. What?" he said incredulously. "You'd... _What_?"

"I think the thing about you being older is pretty stupid," said Greta, as if they were just having a normal conversation, not some totally insane conversation about... Jesus Christ, what _was_ she talking about? "You're not _that_ much older than I am. Eight years is nothing, really, it's no May-December romance. But you are my boss, technically, so I get where that would be weird for you."

"Weird for _you_ ," Brian corrected. There was no way he was actually having this conversation. He'd had a stroke and this was the hallucination of a dying brain.

Greta laughed. She was really, really pretty when she did that. "Dude, you wouldn't fire me. You can't run this place without me anymore."

"What if I just hired you for your hot body?" Brian asked, and then flinched, because _how fucking stupid_ was that to say?

"That would be flattering, but... Be serious. I'm pretty irresistible, but what keeps you up at night are my hot filing skills." She waggled her eyebrows at him, and he almost laughed.

"I promise, _that's_ not what's keeping me up at night," Brian said. She smiled, and he realized belatedly what he'd said. "No, I mean... Fuck, Greta, we really... This is an awkward fucking conversation."

She sighed. She was really pretty doing that, too. "I'm sorry," she said. "I get it. You have standards and morals and stuff I never thought I'd be sad about my employer having."

"Yeah," Brian agreed numbly. If he hadn't... If he were a different person... Fuck.

She bit her lip. "If we'd met at a club or something. Would you have asked me out?" She looked so sweetly hopeful, and Brian had no idea what she wanted him to say.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I guess," he said. "But I would probably have thought you were too young and hot to say yes."

She _beamed_. "Okay," she said, and stood up. "I'll hire an assistant tomorrow. And for the record, Brian?"

"Yeah?" he said. God, why wasn't this conversation over yet?

"I would have said yes." She flashed him another smile. His stomach lurched and his heart almost exploded in his ears. "Honestly, I would have said yes. You should think about that."

And she just walked out, like she hadn't knocked the whole world sideways.


	4. Chapter 4

**Winter**

Brian said Gerard had to go to school every day, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

In fact, Brian had threatened to drive Gerard to school and walk him to class, so Gerard had crossed his heart and hoped to die on Mikey's life that he would go. That was the only reason he actually did. School was more miserable than it ever had been. Bob and Ray didn't know what was going on, but Frank and Gerard barely looked at each other during lunch. Frank, in fact, had been vanishing as quickly as he could, off to do... Well, Gerard didn't know what, because Frank and Gerard weren't talking. Like, at all. Not in a mean way, but the last seventeen conversations they'd had—oh god, why was Gerard keeping count?—involved Gerard saying "Hey," and Frank saying "Hey," back, and then some awkward shuffling of feet. Gerard didn't know what to do or what to say. The whole thing was a disaster.

Gerard had called Brendon, once—he was hard to get on the phone on tour, because he was always busy or asleep—and gotten as far as a really awkward, "So... This thing happened with Frank." Brendon yelled, "Oh my god, _what_?" but Gerard didn't know how to tell him, so he'd snapped the phone shut again, heart racing. He needed advice, but maybe Brendon wasn't the right person to ask, because Brendon was really busy and also, Brendon would totally tell Brian. He wouldn't mean to, but he'd probably think it was in Gerard's best interest or something.

Gerard was going to explode if things didn't get fixed soon, and he had zero ideas about how to fix them. He'd almost made up his mind to tell Mikey. Mikey was practical in a weird way. He'd probably roll his eyes and shrug, but then at least Gerard would have told someone. He _needed_ to tell someone.

Only instead of thinking about that when he got home from school, he completely forgot, because Mikey was sitting on the couch with Alicia. There were a couple of open textbooks lying on the coffee table and some pens, but they weren't looking at the books. They were looking at each other, and they were holding hands. Their faces were really close to each other.

"Holy shit, Mikey!" Gerard yelled, dropping his bag.

Mikey jumped. "What?" he demanded, scowling. Alicia tugged her hand away from his and made a face.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Gerard said. The whole idea of his little brother holding hands with anyone was inconceivable, but particularly Alicia, who was cool, and smart, and most importantly _Pete's girlfriend._

"It's none of your business," said Mikey, crossing his arms.

Alicia grabbed her book. "I'm gonna go," she said.

"Yeah," Gerard snapped. "Maybe you should."

"Fuck you," said Mikey.

"Fuck _you_ ," said Gerard.

"Fuck both of you," said Alicia, scowling. "I'll see you in school." She pushed past Gerard and out the door.

Gerard stared at Mikey for a long time, and Mikey stared back, expressionless and somehow also mad. "Mikey," said Gerard finally. "You can't... Dude, are you honestly, actually trying to steal Pete's girlfriend?"

"She might not be his girlfriend forever," said Mikey stubbornly. "She likes me, too."

"But Pete's your _best friend_ ," Gerard said. "You can't just... What, are you gonna kiss your best friend?"

Mikey blinked. "I'm not gonna kiss Pete," he said.

It took Gerard a second. "Your best friend's _girlfriend_ , I meant kiss your best friend's girlfriend," he said quickly, turning a little red.

"Not yet," said Mikey. He considered for a second. "I would if she wanted to, though."

"Mikey! No!"

They stared at each other again for a minute, and then Mikey said irritably, "I don't know why you think you get to give me advice. You and Frank are all fucked up."

"Right, but I'm not dating Frank," said Gerard.

"Why not?" Mikey asked.

Gerard couldn't breathe. He honestly couldn't get any air in his lungs at all. "I... What?" he said. His chest hurt.

"He likes you and you like him, right?" said Mikey. "So why don't you two go out?"

"I..." was all Gerard could manage, and then he had to sit down, right on the floor.

He didn't notice that he was shaking, or his eyes were burning like he might start crying again, until Mikey was there, putting an arm around his shoulders. "What the fuck happened, Gee?" Mikey asked. "You guys are all fucked up lately. Bob and I were talking about it."

"You two don't talk," said Gerard distantly. "You just stare into space near each other."

Mikey did his little huff-laugh. "Okay, so he said, 'What's with your brother and Frank?' and I said 'I don't fucking know,' and he said, 'That sucks,' and then we played Smash Brothers. Whatever. What _is_ up with you and Frank?"

"He kissed me," said Gerard, and there, he'd said it. It was just lying on the floor there, like a dead body, waiting for someone to realize that Gerard was the murderer.

"Holy shit, Gee," said Mikey, sounding appropriately impressed.

"But he was, like, kidding," Gerard went on. "He laughed." Had he? Gerard didn't remember it very clearly, except the part where he'd actually _felt_ his heart break in half. "So I went home, and now everything is weird."

Mikey hugged him a little. Mikey was pretty boney, but he gave good hugs anyway. "That sucks," he said. "I'm sorry. I thought Frank would be serious about it, because he's liked you forever. But he has been hanging out with Emily Dunnett a lot lately."

Was that where Frank went during lunch? "Oh," said Gerard. "That... I guess that makes sense. She's pretty."

"But she's not you," said Mikey loyally.

"She's not," Gerard agreed. He felt pretty tragic about the whole thing again, and thank god for Mikey, who totally got it. They sat on the floor for a few minutes, not saying anything, while Gerard worked really hard at not crying and Mikey put his chin on Gerard's shoulder. It was nice.

"You're gonna be okay," said Mikey finally.

"Sure," said Gerard bleakly. "Just as soon as I _die_." He paused. "You can't steal Pete's girlfriend, Mikey. It's not nice."

Mikey sighed. "I'm not taking relationship advice from you," he said. "No offense."

"Yeah," Gerard nodded. "I wouldn't either."

\\\\\

"What's that?" Zack asked, leaning over Spencer's shoulder and squinting.

Spencer had an innate hatred for people reading over his shoulder, especially his email, but it was just band stuff, so he made himself lean back. "I was doing math on the merch," he said. "I think we're missing three hundred dollars somewhere."

Zack raised one eyebrow dramatically. "It's your only free hour for like, two months, and you're doing math? You, Spencer Smith, are not like the other children. Did your parents worry?"

"Shut up," said Spencer. "Someone has to keep track of this stuff."

"Yeah," Zack agreed, "but I think it's me." He reached forward and shut Spencer's laptop. Spencer squawked and smacked at his hand, but Zack was already pulling Spencer's chair away from the table. "C'mon," he said. "Interview. Someone needs to make sure Ryan talks and Brendon doesn't bounce out the window. Plus, Jon is missing."

Spencer let Zack drag him to his feet. "How can Jon be missing?" he asked.

"It's a good question," Zack agreed. "When I took this gig I kind of thought he'd be the easy one. It turns out he's not."

Jon, Spencer reflected darkly, wasn't what he seemed like at _all_ sometimes. Then he immediately felt guilty about it, because Jon was at least 90 percent what he promised, and if Spencer had trouble with the other ten percent that wasn't Jon's fault, it was Spencer's.

"I can hear you thinking," Zack said.

"I have a loud brain voice," Spencer agreed.

Zack burst out laughing. "What the fuck's a brain voice?" he asked, rolling his eyes affectionately, and pulled Spencer out of the hotel room.

They shouldn't have had a hotel room, or a bus, but Brian was seventeen kinds of amazing and apparently things were going better than even he'd expected. People were actually buying the CD—Spencer knew how many people per day, per hour, and per minute were buying, and how many were going to their MySpace or buying tickets to the shows. People were actually coming to the concerts to hear _them_ , even though they were the first band and when they went on the cool kids were still outside smoking. The rumor around the road crew was that pretty soon they were going to get bumped up to second opening band, and Spencer didn't know if he wanted that to be true or not. On the one hand, it was awesome. On the other hand, he wasn't sure it was going to be great for Ryan, who had trouble dealing with the crowd as it was.

"We have fifteen minutes, and I wanted to check the numbers," Spencer complained, and stopped in the doorway. Zack tried to drag him, but Spencer dug his heels in. "If you want me to go you have to carry me," Spencer announced.

Zack didn't even blink. "I'll give you a piggyback ride," he said. "C'mon."

Spencer laughed without really meaning to. "Are you... Seriously? Awesome!" he didn't wait for Zack to say he was kidding, or roll his eyes, he grabbed Zack with one arm and jumped. Zack caught him just fine—Zack was kind of a huge dude—and started down the hallway like this happened all the time. Spencer loved Zack, really.

"Wait, we're getting piggyback rides?" Brendon burst out, sticking his head into the hall. "No fair! I call next!"

Spencer looked over his shoulder and stuck his tongue out. Brendon looked shocked for a second, and then started giggling. He was indefatiguably cheerful, as long as there was a show to perform, but Spencer had caught him coughing that morning, and he looked a little pale.

"If you're getting sick I'll kill you," said Spencer conversationally. "We need your fucking voice."

"I'm fine," Brendon said, but that was what he would have said no matter what. Spencer had lived with him for a long time, and he knew Brendon was a big fucking liar about that stuff. "Ryan's already in the lobby—some guy wants to take our pictures and shit, isn't that cool? The magazine's national, I think."

"Brian can clip it out and put it on the fridge," said Spencer.

Brendon stopped for a second. "Dude, I bet he totally has," he said. "Oh my god, I'm gonna call Mikey and ask."

They got in the elevator. "You want me to get down?" Spencer asked Zack, who just shrugged. "Jon's probably down with Ryan. They're jamming, no doubt, writing some awesome song called 'sitting in the lobby playing a guitar.'"

"They are surprisingly literal tune writers, for guys who never met a metaphor they didn't like," Brendon agreed.

The elevator doors dinged open again, and Spencer slid off Zack's back, because getting a piggyback ride was the kind of thing Ryan would make fun of forever, and it would just encourage Brendon to jump on him more. Brendon was already eyeing Zack speculatively. Ryan and Jon were sitting on a couch on the other side of the hotel lobby, with a guy in a sports jacket holding a camera. Jon had a bass and a smile, while Ryan was mostly looking at his hands and clutching his guitar.

"Yo!" Brendon yelled. "You can't start without us!"

"Just taking some preliminary shots," said the photographer, and introduced himself as Jerry. He took a couple of test shots of Brendon, and his eyes lit up when Brendon immediately started pulling faces.

Jon smiled at Spencer and said, "Hey." Ryan didn't look up at all.

"So let me ask you guys some questions," said the photographer. "You're from Philly?"

Spencer looked at Ryan, and Ryan looked at Brendon, and Brendon laughed awkwardly and sat down on the couch next to Jon, looking at his hands. Jon smiled and kept playing with his bass, so Spencer sighed and answered. "We met in Philadelphia," he said. "Ryan and Brendon and I are all from Vegas, actually."

"I'm from Chicago," said Jon. And then, "Go Cubs."

The photographer laughed. "Awesome," he said. "And you guys like being on tour?"

"We love it," said Spencer. "It's great." Brendon nodded and laughed agreeably again.

Jerry took another shot of them, and Brendon mugged outrageously some more. The photographer clearly wanted Ryan to look up, but Ryan was refusing to acknowledge the interview was going on at all. He got that way sometimes, when people were too close to his personal space. "So guys... No relationship troubles so far?" he said. "No one back home to miss, Ryan?"

Spencer needed a second to figure out how to answer that for him. He looked at Jon, who looked at him with his big lopsided grin, and Spencer grinned back.

Somehow in the intervening second, Ryan finally looked up. "I'm single," he said.

Brendon gasped. He hadn't meant to, Spencer could tell but... Jesus. Spencer's stomach dropped and flipped, and he wasn't even the boyfriend in question. Brendon was pale—he'd been pale, but he got paler—and just for a second his eyes were so wide he looked like he'd been slapped. Then he looked down at his hands in his lap. His bangs fell across his face so Spencer couldn't see it.

Ryan was deliberately not looking at any of them. "Okay," said Jerry. "Another group shot? We'll have everyone come out and maybe do a real interview later, maybe as a sidebar? Word on the street is you guys are a hot new thing." He took a couple more shots, but Brendon wouldn't look up and Ryan wouldn't look at him, or anyone, and Spencer was mostly trying to get his face under control so he didn't look like a man who was about to murder his best friend with his bare hands.

When the pictures were done, Zack said, "You have twenty to call," and went to get a soda. They all sat quietly for a minute, while Spencer tried to figure out how to broach the topic of Ryan being an incredible asshole. He braced his shoulders and looked at Jon.

Jon shrugged at him, in a what-can-you-do-about-it way. That was _exactly_ the problem with Jon; he was never upset when Spencer wanted him to be.

"Ryan," Spencer started.

"I have to go," Brendon blurted, jumping to his feet. "I forgot my... I'll see you guys there." Spencer grabbed for his arm, but he missed, and Brendon was already halfway across the lobby by the time Spencer got to his feet.

"Ryan," Spencer almost-yelled, and then made himself drop his voice. "What the _fuck_ is _wrong_ with you?" His voice was so tight the words sounded funny.

Ryan's shoulder's hitched up defensively. "He's the frontman," he said. "He's supposed to be single."

"But he's _not_. Did you _tell_ him you were planning to—"

"You think he wants to answer a hundred questions about being gay?" Ryan asked, voice perfectly even. "What if we actually do get famous, Spencer, then what?"

"Did you tell him?" Spencer repeated.

"I'm protecting him," said Ryan tonelessly.

"Don't you dare—" Spencer started.

Ryan stared at him. "Why are you automatically on _his_ side?" he asked, and Spencer felt like he'd been hit.

"I'm not," he started, but there was the sharp taste of betrayal in his mouth. Ryan was his best friend, and he was the only family Ryan had, and _fuck._ "Jon," Spencer said, looking at his boyfriend.

Jon shrugged. He was deliberately acting like nothing was going on, Spencer was so frustrated with him he could have screamed. "Makes sense to me," Jon said.

" _Which one_ of us makes sense?" Spencer demanded.

Jon shrugged again. "I'm gonna go get Bden," he said, and ambled off.

Spencer stared after him for a second. He needed Jon, just once, to get that people were upset, and it mattered, and he was supposed to be upset too, but that was—that was a whole other fight, and it was going to have to wait until after Spencer finished this Ryan-Brendon fight that he didn't know how to fix.

He made himself turn back to Ryan. "You can't dump stuff like that on us with no warning, god damn it," he said. "It isn't nice."

"You think the audience is gonna be nice?" Ryan asked, hunching in on himself. "You think the reporters will be?"

"It can be our thing," Spencer said, exasperated. "We'll be the big gay band that gets interviewed by Out magazine or something."

"I want to be bigger than that," Ryan said quietly.

"Yeah, but Brendon—"

Ryan looked up. "He wants to be bigger than that, too," Ryan said. He was almost whispering.

Spencer dropped back down to the couch, because, fuck. "Yeah," he agreed. "I guess he probably does."

"He wants to be a rock star in a real band," Ryan said. "He wants that more than anything."

 _Not more than he wants you_ , Spencer almost replied, but he wasn't one hundred percent sure it was true. Ninety percent, yeah, but not one hundred. "Ry," Spencer started again. What was that, the third time? "You can't just... Jesus Christ."

"I know," said Ryan. "I didn't think it would come up so soon."

Zack was waving to them from the door. Time to go. Spencer felt absolutely sick—Ryan was hurting, he could see it all over his face, and Spencer didn't know how to make it better. And somewhere else in the hotel Brendon was hurting. They hadn't been friends since first grade, but Brendon was Spencer's responsibility, now, too. What the fuck was he supposed to do? How the fuck was he going to fix this? Spencer felt like he was drowning.

"Okay," said Ryan, standing up. He walked off without looking back at Spencer.

It took a second for Spencer to make himself stand up. The show tonight, he decided firmly, was going to be amazing, no matter how fucked up they all were. And then he'd come back and work out the numbers on the merch, and figure out a plan to fix Ryan and Brendon. It was all totally doable.

It had to be.

\\\\\

Greta was standing in the hallway outside Brian's office, with her cellphone in one hand and a coffee in the other. Gerard didn't _mean_ to eavesdrop, but she was sort of yelling, and it wasn't like there was a back entrance to the place. All he wanted was to get Brian to sign a field trip permission form—not that Gerard wanted to go on a field trip in the first place. Who gave a fuck about the zoo?

"I told you... No. You don't get to do this." She sounded frustrated and she looked mad, and Gerard had never seen her either of those things before. It was sort of fascinating. He maybe didn't clear his throat like he should have to let her know he was there. "I never... Fuck you, Bob. I'm not responsible for you anymore, that's the deal. We _broke up_. If you have girl problems, that's _your_ problem."

Gerard bit his lip and hitched his backpack further up his shoulder. Listening in was really, really rude, but it wasn't every day he overheard someone else having a horrible time with romantic shit. It was kind of fascinating.

"No..." Greta closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, listen. We broke up. You don't get to call me to complain about the new girl and how she doesn't treat you as good as I used to. If that was true, then why did you—No. _Fuck_ , no, Bob. It's been almost a year, and I'm sorry you're drunk at four fifteen on a Wednesday, and I'm sorry she dumped you, and I'm sorry you keep dating total bitches. But _you_ dumped _me_ , and I'm not gonna hold your hand." She paused, and then she made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, and then she threw the phone across the hall, where it hit the wall and broke into three pieces.

"Whoa," said Gerard, without meaning to.

Greta looked up. "Oh, fuck," she said. "Sorry. It was... Well, it was that or throw the coffee, and I didn't want to clean up the mess."

Gerard nodded. He was pretty sympathetic about throwing things in fits of anger. "Okay," he said. "Cool."

Greta looked tired and unhappy. Her hair was falling out of her ponytail and she was clutching the coffee in her other hand so tightly Gerard thought she might spill it accidentally. "Boys suck, Gerard. No offense, since you are one and all, but boys really, really suck."

"No, they totally do," said Gerard, but he wasn't sure if he meant himself or Frank. He looked her up and down for a second, trying to decide if she was trustworthy, but he'd known her for months now and she'd never really been mean or laughed at him, and Brian seemed to really like her. "Can I maybe ask you about something?"

"You're not planning to dump me and then call me to get advice about the girl you replaced me with, right?" Greta asked, and then swore under her breath. "Never mind. Sure. Of course. Go ahead."

Gerard put his bag down and played with the straps for a second. "Okay," he said. "Okay, so let's say you've known someone forever, and then you have a fight with them."

Greta nodded and took a long drink of coffee. "Sure," she said. "I've done that."

Here was the part Gerard didn't really know how to explain. "But the fight was over something stupid, like, something that just happened, but maybe you didn't mean it to happen. Or maybe he didn't mean it to happen but you got upset, and now it's been like, a month, and things are still weird."

He looked at her expectantly, but she just frowned. "I need some details," Greta said. "Or else I don't know how helpful I can be."

Gerard wasn't really willing to name names. He took a deep breath. "Maybe someone kissed someone else," he said. "As a joke. But the person who got kissed didn't think it was a funny joke because he... Because he actually _wanted_ to kiss the other person."

"Ohhhhh," said Greta, nodding. "That _sucks_. What did the person do?"

"I didn't know what to do," Gerard said. "I— _he_ —just freaked out and went home. I mean, how do you explain that?"

Greta tilted her head. "It would be really hard to explain, wouldn't it," she said. "You wouldn't want to say that he hurt your feelings, because that would make him feel bad, and it would give away your crush. But..." She tapped the coffee consideringly against her chin a few times, looking off into space. "Okay, here's my question, you ready?"

Gerard nodded. "Yeah," he said. So far so good. It was apparently easier to talk to a mostly-stranger about this stuff.

"How do you know he was kidding?" Greta asked.

Gerard stared. "He said so!" he said. "He said he was just playing. That it wasn't a big deal and why was I freaking out so much when it was just a joke."

"Okay," Greta said. slowly "But here's the thing." She bit her lip for a minute like she was picking her words carefully, and Gerard loved the way she was taking him so seriously. "If I kissed someone, and he freaked out, you know what I'd say? I'd say I was just kidding. Because I wouldn't want to seem like a dork who really wanted to kiss someone if he didn't want me to kiss him back. So I'd laugh and say I was just playing around, and then I'd go home and probably cry."

Gerard opened his mouth, but he had no idea what to say. That just wasn't possible. Unless it _was_. "Whoa," he said. "Really?"

"Really," Greta confirmed. "It's been a month and you haven't talked about it at all?" Gerard shook his head. "Maybe... I don't know, you're graduating in a few months, and it would suck to go away and not have talked about this. Because what if I'm right? What if Frank wasn't kidding?"

"But he... I don't know," said Gerard. "Why would he want to kiss me for real?"

Greta winked. "Why _wouldn't_ he?" she said.

Gerard's face got kind of hot. "Shut up," he said. He paused. "Did you ever really kiss someone and then pretend like it didn't matter?"

Greta grimaced and took a drink of her coffee. "One time," she said slowly, "I basically threw myself at my boss and he just stared at me. I wish I could have gone 'just kidding, ha ha ha.'"

"Huh," said Gerard. He had never considered Greta the kind of person who would ever feel weird about talking to anyone. It was really too bad she wasn't talking about Brian, because that would have been awesome. "Your old boss must have sucked. Okay, if you were me, what would you do?"

"Well, first, if you seriously haven't talked to Frank about it you should," she said.

"I can't! What am I supposed to say, 'I have a total crush on you and you don't have a crush on me, and what if we can never be friends again?'" Gerard's pulse jumped. He was going to throw up just thinking about it.

"What if he does?" Greta said.

"But what if he _doesn't_?"

Greta sighed. "Seriously, you have to suck it up, and be a grown up, and _talk_ to him," she said, but Gerard had already dismissed that as a possibility. He couldn't just walk up to Frank and spill his guts. It was way too scary.

"Maybe," said Gerard slowly, considering. "Maybe I could... Maybe I could think about it," he said. "Maybe like, a plan. Or a grand gesture, to let him know how I feel."

"I think kissing you was kind of a grand gesture," said Greta, but Gerard wasn't really listening anymore.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm gonna think about this." He could get Brian to sign the slip and go home to plan. Maybe he could ask Frank on a date that was only a date if Frank wanted it to be one. And then if it didn't work, at least they'd be hanging out and talking again.

Greta sighed. "I'm gonna try and put my phone back together," she said. "Talk to you later."

"Yeah," Gerard said, and started thinking.

\\\\\\\

Banging on the hotel room door woke Spencer out of a dead sleep. He checked the clock. 4:21 it said accusingly, and Spencer growled a little. He elbowed Jon, but Jon didn't even grunt.

Spencer grumbled and got up. He was dressed, at least, so he stomped over to the door fully intending to holler at whomever was there. Touring was awesome, but you never felt like you had enough sleep, and Spencer was dying a little bit from exhaustion.

Zack was standing in the hallway, holding Brendon up. "Shit," said Zack. "Sorry. I thought this was his room. He's next door, right?"

Spencer squinted at Brendon. He was sort of... Limp. His hoodie was twisted around and covered in mud, and his glasses were at a weird angle. He smelled like he'd been bathing in beer and pot, and Spencer wrinkled up his nose. "What the fuck?" he said to Zack.

"The other band called and asked me to take him home," Zack said, and rolled his eyes. "I'll take him over to Ryan's room."

"No," said Brendon, and Spencer hadn't realized Brendon was even awake. "He'll be mad."

On the one hand, Brendon deserved to get yelled at, because he was totally, ridiculously shit faced. On the other hand, he'd had a rough couple of weeks, what with Ryan disclaiming all knowledge of him, and their band getting bumped up to second openers, and maybe getting totally smashed wasn't the worst coping mechanism in the world. He and Ryan _acted_ like they were fine if anyone else was in the room, but things were really, clearly not. "It's okay, I got this," said Spencer, reaching for Brendon.

Brendon stumbled and fell into Spencer, who had to hold him up. His eyes were mostly shut, and his breathing was a little ragged. Spencer was going to fucking kill him in the morning. "You sure?" said Zack.

"Yeah," Spencer sighed. "Ryan'll.. Ryan doesn't handle this well." There was a painful understatement for the situation. And, Spencer suspected, the reason Brendon kept doing it.

"Mad at me anyway," Brendon mumbled into Spencer's shoulder. He seriously smelled like he'd fallen into a vat of beer. It was a good thing he wasn't nearly as tall or as heavy as Spencer was, or he'd have dragged them both to the floor of the hallway.

"Make him drink some water," Zack advised.

Spencer nodded. "Thanks, dude," he said.

Zack tried to scowl. "I'm not babysitting him again," he said. "This is three times."

Shit, Spencer only knew about two. He was going to have the _longest_ conversation with Brendon _of his life_ in the morning. All about times and places it was appropriate to make a scene, and reasons Brendon's nervous breakdown wasn't allowed to hurt the band. And then he was going to yell at Ryan for being a cold fucking bastard some more. Maybe this time it would get through. "Yeah," he said, "Sorry. We're—"

Zack had already shrugged it off. "No big," he said. "I don't really mind."

Spencer was going to nominate Zack for sainthood, just as soon as he dealt with everything else in the world. Spencer said goodnight and dragged Brendon into his room. Brendon wasn't much help with the walking part, but he was quiet, at least. Spencer pulled him into the bathroom and made him sit on the floor.

"You jackass," Spencer said, shutting the door. "What the fuck do you think you're _doing_?"

Brendon blinked at him. Spencer filled up a hotel glass with water. "How we met," said Brendon, letting his head loll a little against the wall.

"Yeah," Spencer agreed grimly. "You threw up all over me. Are you going to throw up tonight?"

"Maybe," Brendon said consideringly. And then, "I wanted to play the Beatles."

Spencer frowned. What the fuck did that mean? "Drink this," he ordered, handing Brendon the water, and watching to make sure he didn't spill it everywhere. He got a lot of it on his hoodie, but enough of it in his mouth that Spencer took it away and filled it up again.

"I," Brendon started, and hiccupped. He smiled and giggled at himself, and almost slipped down the wall to the floor, except Spencer caught his arm. "We only have twelve songs," Brendon said. "If we... Should play something else, the Beatles. But Ryan said no."

Spencer sighed and handed him the glass again. "We have a while before we have to worry about that," he said, adding yet another thing to his list of Stuff To Talk To Ryan About. Ryan was such a dictatorial asshole sometimes, and it killed Spencer a little.

"It'd be nice," Brendon said insistently, and then, "Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Throwing up."

"Oh, fuck," Spencer said, and helped Brendon get over to the toilet to hurl before it got all over the floor. Brendon threw up twice, and he clearly hadn't had much to eat before he'd gone off adventuring with the other bands. Everyone on tour loved Brendon, he was cuddly and funny and fun. Spencer was going to have to start asking them to send him home a lot earlier if this was what he was getting up to.

He got Brendon to rinse his mouth out and then drink some more water. "I'm sorry," Brendon mumbled a couple of times, but his eyes were sinking shut and Spencer was pretty sure he wouldn't remember any of this in the morning. "Did I do something wrong?" Brendon whispered.

"No," Spencer sighed. "But you have to knock this getting drunk shit off, okay? Brendon? Awww, damn it." Brendon's eyes were shut and his breathing had evened out, and Spencer fucking gave up. Brendon was going to be miserable as fuck in the morning, but maybe he deserved it.

"Hey," said Jon's rumbly voice in the doorway. "I don't remember ordering a drunk lead singer."

"You know we can't afford room service, anyway," Spencer said. He looked up and over his shoulder. Jon was standing there, leaning on the doorframe, looking rumpled and sleepy and hot. But there was Brendon, lying on the bathroom floor. "Fuck, man, I don't know what to do."

As soon as he said it he regretted it; it was sort of _overwhelmingly_ true, not just about Brendon's drunk ass, but about Ryan, and the tour, and the band, and Jon, and everything. Spencer's eyes burned for just a minute.

"Chill," said Jon. "No problem." He came in and helped Spencer carry Brendon back to the other room. They got Brendon out of his hoodie and his sneakers on the extra bed they never used, propped up on his side so if he threw up again he wouldn't die and the band wouldn't end up some kind of over-before-it-started tragedy.

"He's all fucked up," Spencer said. His throat felt tight and it was a little hard to breathe.

Jon put his hands on Spencer's shoulders and squeezed. "He'll get over it," he said. "Lots of people drink when they're upset. It's not the end of the world."

That was Jon, being amazing—Spencer could feel himself melting under Jon's hands, letting Jon pull him back to bed—and awful, all at the same time. Jon was deliberately pretending not to know how bad things were really getting, and Spencer didn't know whether to scream at him or let him have his delusions, because shouldn't one of them think things would turn out okay?

"Come back to bed, Spence."

"Ryan's probably worried about where he is," Spencer said, fidgeting.

"If Ryan wanted to know, he would have gone out looking for him with Zack," Jon said, with easy confidence

Spencer turned on him. "Don't say that," he snapped. He was surprised at his own anger, bubbling up and spilling over everywhere. "Don't act like Ryan doesn't care, he _cares_ , okay. They had a fight, but Brendon's not exactly suffering tragically here. He's an asshole who went out and got wasted because he knows it makes Ryan mad. I wouldn't go looking for him, either." That was his best friend Jon was calling an asshole, and maybe Spencer called him that once a day, but that was his right. Ryan's accusation about taking sides burned in his throat again.

"Whoa, whoa," said Jon, holding up his hands. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," Spencer said tightly. "Nothing at all."

Jon shook his head, baffled. Spencer knew he wasn't being fair, but he also didn't care right now. He got under the covers stiffly and rolled away when Jon tried to put his hand on Spencer's arm.

That should have been the end of the night. It would have been, but about three hours later Spencer was dragged up from bleary not-quite-dreams about checking the equipment before a show by a tinny rendition of Hannah Montana. "Nnngh," he said, flailing a little, and caught Jon in the face by accident.

"What?" Jon said, not really waking up.

"Sorry," Brendon whispered. "It's my phone." He had it out of his pocket already, sitting on the edge of the bed looking wrecked; pale and hollow-eyed. His skin had a green tinge, too. "It's..." He looked at the phone, and his eyes went wide and his hand started shaking.

"Shit," Spencer said, sitting up. "What?"

Brendon just shook his head and opened the phone. "Hey," he said, with so much false, strangled cheer in his voice that he sounded like the Disney version of himself. "Mom! Hi! How are... You and dad and everyone, how are you? ...Yeah. I missed you, too."

\\\\\\\

Greta hired an assistant named Alex, who wore glasses and a tie to the office every day, and within a couple of hours had been adopted by Gabe as _his_ new assistant, instead. It became pretty common to hear Gabe suddenly shriek, "Suarez!" across the office. Alex was pretty relaxed about it, and he seemed to sort of understand Gabe's filing style, which Brian had always assumed was just to throw papers randomly around the office.

It meant that Greta was still doing the work of three people, though, and was still at the office late. She'd been a little frazzled lately, Brian had noticed—he couldn't help noticing, a disturbing amount of his brain was taken up cataloging what Greta was wearing and who Greta talked to and what made Greta smile—and staying late probably didn't help.

He walked past her office and heard her swearing. It got dark so early during the winter that it felt like the middle of the night, even though it was barely eight. Brian stopped. Greta was sitting on her desk, crumpling up papers and throwing them at the trash can on the other side of the room, where there was a nice pile building up.

"Son of a bitch," she said, and threw another ball. "Motherfucker." She missed the pile and landed that one on top of the filing cabinet. "Stupid asshole."

"Uh," said Brian, from the doorway. "Trouble in filing land?"

Greta jumped a little bit. "Oh. I guess I could have shut that, huh," she said. "Sorry."

"Listen, if this is about Gabe and Alex, we can get you a different assistant, and you don't have to stay late tonight, because I can handle the contracts for tomorrow."

Greta shook her head. "No," she said, "I'm just... I'm having some personal issues and I'm taking them out on this poor innocent pile of paper."

Brian was pretty sure nothing was more awkward than talking about personal issues with your boss who couldn't keep his eyes to himself. "I'll just, uh," he said. "I'll leave you alone with that, then."

"No, it's cool, I swear," she said. "My fucking ex keeps calling me, and I'm so _tired_ of it, but he thinks... Okay, I love him, right? He's an amazing person, and an amazing musician, and we were best friends before we dated. But just because I'm not dating anyone doesn't mean I want to date _him_ again. Jesus."

Brian whistled sympathetically. "That does indeed suck," he said. "Sorry. You really don't have to stick around, tonight, seriously—"

"I'd rather be here where at least I have some distractions," said Greta firmly. "Speaking of which, Brian, I need you to sign a couple of things over here." She leaned backward and opened a desk drawer, rooting around for a folder.

She wasn't allowed to be bendy on top of cute and confident and gorgeous and smart and everything else. Brian tried to make himself concentrate on her obvious ex-boyfriend issues. He went in and took the folder, signing a couple of papers while Greta looked at him expectantly.

She smelled good. Damn it. Brian spent all his time with teenage boys who hated showering, and Gabe, who often smelled overwhelmingly like garlic for no apparent reason. He deliberately stood a little further away from her than he had to. It had been a hard month, thinking about what she'd said and still maintaining his professionalism.

"And there," said Greta pointing. She had to lean in to do it, and her arm brushed Brian's, and he bit his lip, because _fuck_. She was wearing a t-shirt, it shouldn't have been sexy at all. But it was clinging and he could see the outline of her bra—he wasn't _looking_ , okay, it was just right _there_. He had _eyes._

Brian shook himself and concentrated on signing the paper. He couldn't get himself in trouble if he was just never stupid enough to be alone with her in an office again. That was a good plan. That was a _brilliant_ plan. He'd just avoid being alone with her. Maybe he could hire people—lots of people—to hang out in the office all day. Or he could claim to have a really contagious disease, something that required her to stay at least ten feet away from him at all times. He couldn't get in trouble if she were ten feet away.

He looked up. She wasn't ten feet away. She wasn't even ten inches away. Her big, gorgeous eyes were right there, and her gorgeous, soft mouth was a tiny bit open, and her hair was framing her face in soft curls that Brian wanted to touch. "Um," said Brian, and he didn't mean his voice to sound so gravely or so breathy.

She tilted her face up, and her eyelashes fluttered a little, and _god_ Brian wanted her. She was funny and smart and confident and his kids liked her and _why_ couldn't she have worked for anyone else in the whole world? "Yeah?" Greta said softly. She was so close, he could almost feel her breath.

Brian leaned in instinctively, and then jerked himself back. Fuck, he hadn't worked this hard not to react to her for a month to throw it all away by doing something spectacularly stupid now. "I," he said. "Here." He held out the folder, carefully at arm's length.

Greta blinked like she was waking up. "Oh," she said. "Thanks."

"Yeah."

Brian didn't run away. That would have been cowardly. He just beat a hasty retreat and then spent a few minutes sitting with his head down on his desk, muttering angry things about himself under his breath.

\\\\\

"No," said Ray firmly.

"Yes," countered Bob, stealing a fry off Ray's lunch tray. "The prequels are the worst thing ever to happen to the Star Wars franchise."

"No," said Ray again. "When Lucas changed it so that Han didn't shoot first, _that_ was the worst thing."

"Not as bad as Jar Jar Binks."

"That's totally worse than Jar Jar Binks!"

" _Nothing_ is worse than Jar Jar Binks."

Gerard looked up briefly. He wanted to join in—he had _opinions_ about Star Wars, okay—but he was sort of busy working himself up. His stomach was fluttering and swooping and he hadn't eaten lunch because he didn't want to throw it up. Snow was falling outside, and the cafeteria windows were frosted and white and Gerard was trying to imagine himself as calm as the snow outside, but inside he felt more like a volcano.

Mikey was watching Gerard with his skeptical face, looking over his glasses like Gerard needed careful examining. Mikey hadn't sat with Pete, because he and Alicia were busy making stupid faces at each other, and apparently Mikey's plan to steal Alicia away wouldn't work if Patrick and everyone was sitting around watching them watch each other. "What, Gee?" said Mikey.

"Nothing," said Gerard immediately, and then grinned and laughed, because he couldn't help it. He schooled his expression into something normal again. "Nothing," he repeated.

"What's nothing?" Ray asked, looking over.

"Nothing is nothing," said Gerard, feeling a little defensive. He wasn't ready to share his big plans with anyone else yet. Not until he'd fixed things. Not until he'd made everything okay again.

Bob looked at Ray, and Ray shrugged and looked at Mikey. Mikey glared at Gerard over his glasses. "Nothing like nothing?" he asked. "Or nothing like _nothing_?"

"I'm going," said Gerard, standing up too quickly and knocking his tray all over the table.

"Why?" Ray asked, but Gerard didn't answer. He just grabbed his milk and his fries and stuffed them back on the tray.

Gerard couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't, "I'm about to go talk to Frank." Frank had given up on even eating lunch with them this week, and it broke Gerard's heart. He'd finally worked himself around to the idea that if he just talked to Frank, maybe everything could go back to normal. He could fix things, give Frank the opportunity to explain what had happened, and then, even if things were still wrong, they wouldn't be _that_ wrong anymore.

"It's a bad idea," said Mikey ominously, crossing his arms

"You don't even know what I'm doing," Gerard replied. His heart was pounding, it was absolutely going to explode out of his chest. "Where's Frank?"

"Ohhhhhh," said Mikey, shaking his head.

Gerard had no time for doom and gloom. If he let in any kind of doubt at all then the whole thing, his whole mental state, was going to shatter and fall apart into tiny, shiny pieces. "Shut up," said Gerard firmly, and Mikey rolled his eyes and went back to his lunch.

"He's with Emily," said Bob. "I think they're working on the yearbook right now." He stopped and looked considering. "Are you going to talk to him? Because don't tell him I said that, but I kind of miss that weird little spaz at lunch."

Gerard felt _intensely_ guilty. "I'm gonna fix it," he promised.

"Fix what?" Ray asked. Bob punched him in the shoulder. "No, I mean what _happened_ in the _first place_?" Ray clarified, scowling back at Bob. "Fuck you."

"Fuck _you_ ," said Bob, and stole more of Ray's fries.

"I have to talk to Frank," Gerard said, with a weird little one-shouldered shrug. He didn't want to talk about this.

"No shit," said Mikey. "You should have talked to him three months ago. Or like, three _years_ ago."

Gerard glared. "This isn't—You didn't know shit about this three years ago."

"Ask Brendon. I did."

"You so did not!"

"I so _did_."

Mikey was glaring pretty hard, like maybe he actually had clued in to the whole thing years before Gerard had, and if that was true, Gerard was going to die. "Brendon didn't know either," he grumped.

Mikey snorted. "Brendon knew, dude. He's been planning the _wedding_ since he _met you_ , I'm pretty sure."

"What wedding?" Ray demanded, and Bob punched him in the arm again.

"I'm gonna go," said Gerard, standing perfectly still.

Mikey sighed and rolled his eyes. "Okay," he said. "So go."

"I am."

"So _go_." Mikey sneered a little, but it wasn't in a mean way. "It'll be fine, Gee. It's Frank. Go talk to him. Just like, be honest."

"And tell him to give me my library book back," Ray chimed in. And then, "Oww, motherfucker. If you punch me again, I'm gonna end you."

Gerard took a deep, steadying breath, and nodded. He could seriously do this. He'd rehearsed it about a million, billion times in his head. He'd say, Hey, Frank, and Frank would say, Hey, Gerard, and then Gerard would say, Listen, I was kind of an idiot about that thing that happened in your basement before your birthday. And Frank would nod because Gerard had been kind of an idiot, and then Frank would say, Because I wasn't really kidding and you hurt my feelings, and Gerard would say, When you claimed you were just kidding I thought I was going to die, because I love you, dude, and then Frank would say, Really? And Gerard would say, Let's go see a movie on a date and shit, and Frank would say, What movie? And Gerard would say, There's a cheesy sci-fi double feature this weekend and we should go. And Frank would be excited, and there would be more kissing but this time it would be _good_ , and everything would be fixed forever.

"Good luck," said Bob, looking scowly.

"With _what_?" Ray asked, and then preemptively punched Bob.

Gerard headed upstairs. Yearbook staff were excused from lunch because they always had so much work to do, and they met in Mr. Benson's room because he had the most computers. Gerard tried to talk himself down from being nervous, but his hands were shaking a little bit. He should have told Brian about this. Brian would have had decent advice. Even when Brian had no idea what he was talking about—like with girls—he still at least tried.

The door to Mr. Benson's room was open. Gerard stopped in the doorway. His heart was in his mouth, because there was Frank, sitting on a desk and giggling his stupid high-pitched giggle. Gerard's stomach started doing weird, swoopy things until he thought he might preface his whole speech by throwing up. Frank was talking to Emily, who was a totally nice girl with glasses and a skull-and-crossbones hoodie she put on whenever the teachers weren't looking. If Gerard had ever been interested in talking to someone who wasn't Frank or Ray or Bob or Mikey, he might have considered her.

"Um," said Gerard, but his voice broke and it came out all squeaky and weird.

Frank and Emily both looked up. Emily smiled, but Frank's face went kind of blank, which was a weird look for Frank. "Hey," said Emily. "What's up?"

This wasn't in the script anywhere. Gerard had never considered the possibility that Frank wouldn't be on his own, sulking, the way Gerard spent most of _his_ time on his own, sulking. "I..." he said. "Can I talk to Frank?"

Frank and Emily exchanged a look. "Whatever," said Frank, and he sounded kind of... Hurt? Gerard bit his lip and twisted his hands in his tie. If he'd hurt Frank's feelings half as badly as his own had been hurt, he would never forgive himself.

"Okay," said Emily slowly. "I'm gonna... I need to show the senior dedications to Mr. Benson, to make sure he approves them. I don't think there should be quite so many about getting drunk." She grabbed her bag and pushed her glasses up her nose and went past Gerard and down the hallway.

So now they were just. Looking at each other. Frank crossed his arms and put his chin up. "What?" he said, sounding grumpy.

"I'm sorry," Gerard blurted.

"For being a total dick?" said Frank. "And _ignoring_ me for like, weeks?"

"You were ignoring me!" Gerard blurted, crossing his own arms. Frank was supposed to be happy that Gerard was apologizing, not all... Hostile.

Frank glowered at him. "You ignored me first," he insisted. "And it sucked."

"It was just because—"

"I don't _care_ why," Frank said. He had a stubborn look on his face. It was the look he used to get when someone was mean to Gerard or Mikey, but now it was a whole other thing, and Gerard was so taken aback he didn't know what to say or how to explain himself.

"I... Oh." Gerard hadn't really considered that Frank was _mad_ at him. Frank was supposed to be sad and hurt, like Gerard was. Gerard hadn't been mad, except at himself. The idea that Greta could possibly be right seemed more and more distant, but Gerard had a plan, okay, and he was going to carry it out no matter what. "I... What are you doing on Friday?" he said.

Frank looked confused. "What do you mean, what am I doing on Friday?"

"Because... There's a movie," said Gerard uncertainly. None of this was even remotely the way it was supposed to be happening. What if there was a point of no return with Frank? What if he'd crossed it? What if things were indelibly, _forever_ different and he _couldn't get it back_? Even if things couldn't be better, he'd sort of assumed they were as bad as they could be, but this... This was worse.

"I'm _going_ to a movie," Frank grumped. "With Emily."

With Emily.

Emily.

Who was a _girl_. And not Gerard at all.

"Oh," Gerard choked out. "You're... You are?"

"Yeah," said Frank. He relented a tiny, tiny bit, and asked, "Why?"

 _Because I was hoping you liked me like I like you_ , Gerard didn't say, because it was hopelessly, pointlessly stupid. "What the hell do you mean, you're going with Emily," Gerard said. His brain had turned off. He couldn't think of anything to say, nothing at _all_ that might have saved the situation.

"I like Emily," Frank snapped immediately. "She's nice. She doesn't _ignore_ me."

"She has a crush on you," Gerard said miserably. It wasn't _fair_. He'd taken forever to realize he totally loved Frank, and Emily was brand new, and she hadn't had any problems with it at all. And Frank _had_ been just messing around, Greta was wrong, and Gerard had ruined everything for no reason. "That's a stupid reason to hang out with her." Bitterness was making him mean.

"So? What if she does? _Some_ people like me."

"I used to like you," said Gerard. What did it matter at this point if he just blurted it out? He was honestly amazed he hadn't dropped dead right there, right in front of Frank. It didn't matter _what_ he said anymore. Fucking Frank, fucking ruined everything.

Frank looked hurt again. "You don't act like it," he said.

Gerard's eyes burned, and his throat hurt, and his chest was all collapsed, and his knees were gooey. He had a thousand things he wanted to say, that he knew he _should_ say, but what came out was, "Emily's ugly."

"No, she's not!" Frank said.

"She's ugly and stupid and you _deserve_ each other, because you're stupid _too_ ," Gerard said. He'd never, ever wanted to see Frank's hurt face before, but now he did. He was _dying_ inside, and Frank should be, too.

Frank's mouth fell open. "Fuck you!" he said. "She's nice! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Everything," Gerard said, choking on the words. "You're... _You're_ wrong."

Gerard realized Frank didn't know what that meant. If he had... If he'd known that Gerard was there to apologize about the kissing, he probably would have punched him, because Frank had been just goofing around, Frank wanted to go out with Emily, Frank didn't even _care_. "Fuck you," said Frank. His voice was shaking a little bit. Maybe with rage? Maybe with something else. "Fuck you, Gerard, you fucking hypocrite."

"Fuck _you_ ," Gerard said back, but his voice was barely a whisper. He made himself clear his throat. "I came here to apologize, you asshole. You're... You're so _wrong_. You're so _stupid_."

Frank grabbed his bag and stormed out. Gerard, amazingly, didn't burst into tears. There weren't even tears in his eyes. This was something else, this was something worse than crying. He was numb all over, he couldn't feel his fingers or his feet, and he was dizzy like he was going to fall over. This was bigger than anything you could even cry about.

You didn't cry when the world ended. You just picked up your bag and went to your next class and hoped no one else noticed that the sky had fallen in and everything was ruined forever.


	5. Chapter 5

Spring

> from: spencer.smith87@gmail.com  
> to: bschechter@cobrastarshipproductions.com
> 
>  _the new tour is ok. its a little bit more scary 2 b the 3rd band playing bc ppl know the cd and stuff. Brendon loves it a lot u can tell. ryan is getting better at interviews at least he talks sometimes now. u r really awesome how is stuff w/ u?_
> 
> from: bschechter@cobrastarshipproductions.com  
> to: spencer.smith87@gmail.com
> 
>  _Hey, Spencer. Things here are just like always; Gabe is crazy. I may fly out and see you guys at some point; I think we're going to get you on TV pretty soon for some more interviews and stuff that's videotaped, and we need to make a video for one of the album tracks. Are you guys excited? It'll mostly be Brendon on camera, I expect; I'll email you some treatments and you can pick the one you like the best._
> 
>  _How is Brendon holding up with the parental stuff? I can't imagine he's not freaking out about seeing them in a couple of weeks, and I bet that's freaking Ryan out, too, right? He needs to fucking call me, if I leave him any more messages I will officially be a stalker. Let me know._
> 
>  _Brian_
> 
> from: spencer.smith87@gmail.com  
> to: bschechter@cobrastarshipproductions.com
> 
>  _things here are ok bden's crazy but mostly he's just excited you know how he is. ryan is crazy 2 but that is how he is 2. i can handle it. ill look at the video stuff and get back 2 u about what we want 2 do i kind of cant believe that we get 2 do this stuff now its pretty cool. i am still not used to ppl wanting 2 take my picture all the time. i attached a picture of ryan and bden they are having a bet about who can wear the stupidest sunglasses all the time i dont know why but its pretty funny._

  
The picture was hilarious; Brendon was wearing a pair of pink My Little Pony sunglasses, while Ryan had sunglasses that covered more than half of his face. They were beaming at each other, as near as Brian could tell with their eyes hidden. He emailed it to Mikey and Gerard, even though he knew it would just end up in Gerard wanting to go shopping for sunglasses that were even stupider. At least then maybe Gerard would smile about something; he'd been quiet and mopey for weeks.

Brian had a stack of papers as high as his shoulder on his desk to go through. What he really needed was a three-ring binder to put all his records for the band in, but there was nothing like that in his office. Brian sighed and went out to find Greta, who always knew where things were.

"In the supply closet," Greta said over her shoulder. She was organizing Gabe's desk because Alex had threatened to quit if someone didn't help him make sense of it.

Spring meant a new influx of adorable grandma dresses, which were distracting Brian pretty badly. Winter had been much easier; jeans and sweaters were much more ignorable than the navy and pink think she was wearing today, with a little sweater that should have been ridiculous and was sexy instead.

"We have a supply closet?" Brian asked.

Greta rolled her eyes. "You are kind of hopeless, Schechter. I'll show you." She shut the filing cabinet with her hip—she had to cut that out—and showed him a door in the hall he was pretty sure he'd never noticed before. Inside was a beautifully organized set of metal shelves, with all kinds of office supplies, neatly labeled by category in purple sharpie.

"Holy shit," said Brian. "When did you do this? I've been looking for stickies and a stapler for months."

"I can't believe you ever survived without me," Greta sighed. "How do you raise _kids_?"

"Not very well, I don't think," Brian said guiltily. He grabbed some stuff off the top shelf, marveling that Greta hadn't run away to go work for someone who appreciated her. He turned around, and Greta was right there. The closet wasn't really big enough for two people to grab supplies without reaching around each other, and it was close and dark and not romantic at all. Somehow that didn't stop Brian's heart from pounding because he was in a small, dark place pressed up against an attractive woman.

"Oh," said Greta. "I'm... Hey." She was clutching a ream of paper to her chest like a life preserver.

Brian swore at himself under his breath. "I tried to avoid this," he said. "I swear I did."

Something flashed across Greta's face. "Why, because I just can't keep my hands off you?" she snapped. "I promise, I absolutely _can_ , okay, I'm not—"

"Whoa, not you," said Brian. He wanted to gesture, but there was really nowhere for his hands to go but toward her. "Because I can't... Because I... I've been trying to avoid temptation." He winced, because he was pretty sure that was both insulting and a stupid thing to say.

Greta frowned. "You're calling me a temptress?" she said.

"Sorry. I didn't mean... I just meant that it's hard having someone so attractive around, who's so unavailable. To me, I mean."

Her face softened, and she bit her lip. "I'm not," she said quietly. "I'm... Available."

Brian put down the stapler, because it was a dead giveaway that his hands weren't as steady as they should have been. He could smell her perfume over the musty closet smell, and if he moved half a step forward her arms would be touching his chest where they crossed over the paper. "Greta," he said, and tried to make his voice sound normal, not scratchy or throaty, or anything else. "I'm... This closet is a bad idea. We should get out of here."

"Should we?" she said, tilting her face up. She was gorgeous, and she was interested, and she was _right there_. Brian snapped.

"Oh, fuck this," he said, and grabbed her shoulders and kissed her.

They both staggered a little bit, until Brian's back hit the wire shelves. He pulled her with him. Her mouth was amazingly soft, and her eyes fluttered shut, and Brian felt—honest to god felt—an electrical shock run down his spine and up his arms. Greta melted into him, as much as she could with a ream of paper in her arms.

She pulled back suddenly, blinking, and said, "Hang on, I should—"

Brian dropped his hands hastily. "Sorry, shit, sorry, I didn't mean to, please don't quit, I just—"

The look she gave him was hilariously disdainful. "I'm _putting down the paper_ ," she said. "What is _wrong_ with you?" She set it down with a big, deliberate movement and then turned back to him. There was a little smile playing across her mouth that was half teasing and half unbelievably sexy. "Now," she said, putting one arm and then the other around his neck. "Where were we?" She leaned forward until her mouth was barely brushing his.

"Please don't quit," he repeated in a whisper, and kissed her again.

There should have been fireworks, and a marching band, and a giant chorus of angels singing. It _felt_ like there were. Brian had kissed enough women to know what was a decent kiss and what was a good kiss and what was a great kiss, but this was something else entirely. They moved together, his hands coming up around her waist—he was never letting go, seriously, they would have to pry him away after they both died—and hers tightening around his neck; her mouth opening under his and his head tilting just right; the taste and the smell and the feel of everything being completely, absolutely, totally _right_.

Greta made a little noise that might have been a purr. Brian would have laughed, but he was busy. She pressed her hips up into his, which, fuck, was going to be a problem in a second, because the door to the closet was still open and anyone could walk by, and what he _wanted_ was to slide his hands up underneath her dress and get her to wrap her legs around his waist, but that was pretty inappropriate for work. He felt a quick pang of guilt—she was his _employee_ —which was mostly erased again when she threaded one hand through his hair and he realized she was almost on tiptoe, clinging to him.

"We," Brian said, breaking because he needed to breathe. The room swayed a little bit. "Okay, the thing is," he said breathlessly. "The thing is, I have kids."

"I know," Greta agreed. "They're cool. Weird, but cool."

"Right, but I... I think I fucked up pretty badly with Susan over the summer, and I don't want to just take you home and be like, hey kids, look!"

She got a funny little smile that he couldn't read at all. "Go on," she said.

"But. Well ... I don't think it's fair _not_ to tell them, either, because they like you, and you're amazing."

"Brian," Greta said. She was biting her lip and it looked like she was trying not to smile too hard. "You're... You're implying this isn't just a makeout session in the supply closet, right?"

He blinked. "Oh. Yeah. I thought that was kind of a given."

Greta leaned up and kissed him. "I'm glad," she said. "Maybe we should go on a date or something before we worry about telling your kids, though, yeah?"

"You and your logical mind," Brian sighed. "So seeing me ten hours a day already isn't too much? You'd... You'd go out to dinner sometime, too?"

"Anytime," Greta said, and his hands tightened reflexively around her waist.

"God. You're wonderful," Brian said. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. "How about dinner tomorrow?"

"How about dinner tonight?" she said. He laughed. "What? I waited like, six months, I don't see why I should _keep_ waiting," Greta said. "You're no kind of gentleman, Brian."

"Not where you're concerned I'm not," he agreed regretfully, but she laughed, and it was the most amazing sound he'd ever heard.

"Good," said Greta. She tugged on his shirt. "You should kiss me again."

"Yeah," he said. "I think I should."

\\\\\

Brendon was curled up on the bus lounge couch with his chin on Ryan's shoulder and his feet tucked underneath him. Spencer opened up his laptop to a new blank document and scowled at it. Jon, on his other side, hummed to himself with his hands behind his head.

"Okay," said Spencer. "First order of business. The video."

"I like the one with the circus," said Ryan.

Spencer looked up, but no one else said anything, so he rolled his eyes. "Do we _all_ like the one with the circus?" he asked. "I mean, Brendon, you're the one who has to be a ringmaster."

"Sure," said Brendon agreeably. "I can... I'd look sexy in a top hat." Ryan huffed out a little laugh poked him in the side. "What?" Brendon demanded. "I would! I am totally sexy."

"That's what all the girls say," said Jon.

Spencer winced. Ryan immediately stiffened and Brendon jerked a little. Suddenly there were a couple of inches between them, where ten seconds earlier they'd been glued together. "Yeah," Brendon joked, with a pasted-on smile. "All the girls say I'm a sex god."

"Right," said Spencer firmly, "So the next thing is the stage show."

"Bigger," said Ryan immediately.

Spencer scowled at him. "You can make it as big as you want," he said. "We can have strippers and fire and explosions, but you'll still be on that stage, and people will still be looking at you. You get that, right?"

"Shut up," Ryan mumbled, and Spencer knew that meant he was right.

"A big stage show is cool," said Brendon loyally. "You think... You think we're gonna end up headlining?"

"Brian thinks so," said Spencer. "And I figure he should know."

"Then we'll definitely need to fill in the set with some covers," said Brendon, "And I still think the Beatles would be—"

"No," said Ryan flatly. "That's so... It's cheesy."

Brendon bit his lip. Spencer could see him dying to start expounding on all the reasons he loved the Beatles, and how they would fit in to the show, but Brendon glanced over and saw Ryan's stubborn, flat expression, and neither of them said anything.

Later, Spencer was going to have to take them both aside and give them a firm talking to about the way band meetings were supposed to be run. First, because drama was to be avoided, and second, because as near as he could tell the two of them sucked the hardest in the entire universe at actually _talking_ to each other about stuff.

"Right," said Spencer, ignoring them both. He was taking his plan from Jon's book—ignore it and it'll go away. "What about the t-shirts and stuff that Brian sent?"

"They're awesome," said Jon. "I can't believe Gerard did such nice work."

"They're _amazing_ ," Brendon agreed, bright and bouncy and proud. "All weird and cool and hilarious. He's done a couple of posters for us, too, he emailed them to me." He deflated for a second. "I wish he'd tell me what the fuck was going on."

Ryan reached over and put his hand on Brendon's, and Brendon beamed at him. It made Spencer feel the tiniest bit better about both of them. "Mikey didn't tell you anything?" Ryan asked.

Brendon shook his head. "Mikey's... I don't know, he's having issues, too, and they're both hard to get in touch with from the road." He sighed, and then perked himself right back up. "But! Speaking of family, my parents called again, and they're definitely coming to the show in Vegas."

Ryan's back straightened out like he'd been ironed, and Spencer felt his shoulders get tight, too. "Cool," said Spencer carefully. "When did you talk to them?"

"They called this morning," Brendon bubbled. Ryan took his hand back so he could cross his arms. Brendon didn't seem to notice. "It's going to be hilarious, all these rock kids and my parents, who are like, the total opposite. But I figure we can put them on the guest list—it's also hilarious that we can put people on the guest list, by the way—and then they can be in the balcony or something. I don't think they're pit people, really. Oh, and I guess Kara had another baby, which, obviously they're not bringing him to the show, but I might go see him after? And—" He stopped uncertainly, because Jon, and Spencer, and Ryan were all looking at him, and no one else was smiling.

Jon tried. His grin was big and easy, but totally forced, Spencer could tell. He reached over to pat Brendon on the leg. "Awesome," he said. "I can't wait to meet them."

Spencer tried to make himself smile, too, but it was hard. He'd spent too long explaining to people why no family beside Brian and the kids ever showed up for Brendon's recitals at school. He'd had to ask his mom to mail extra cookies for Brendon in her care packages from home too many times. Brendon had never seemed angry, just sad, but Spencer had enough anger for everyone involved put together, and he was itching to meet the Uries, just so he could punch them in the face. "They're coming to the show and then, what?" Spencer asked. "You're going to visit?"

"Yeah," Brendon said, lighting up again. "The _house_. God, I haven't seen it in... Well, a long time. You're seeing your parents, too, right? So it'll be like, family weekend."

Ryan's knuckles were white. He didn't say anything, though, just pressed his lips together.

Brendon looked at him and hesitated again. "You're... Ryan. Say something."

"Okay," said Ryan flatly. And just stopped.

Brendon's face flashed through a dozen different emotions before settling on confused annoyance. "You're supposed to be happy for me," said Brendon flatly, like he couldn't believe Ryan wasn't bubbling over like he was.

"Oh," said Ryan. "I am?"

"You're... Yeah. I've only been waiting for this to happen forever," Brendon said, edging toward snappish.

Ryan stared at him, hard and cold. "Are you going to introduce me to them?" he asked.

Brendon inhaled sharply. "You... I just got them _back_. Of course I will, but you can't expect me to start with... Ryan! That's not _fair_!"

Ryan just sat there, mouth tight.

Brendon's voice was shaking. "You are such a hypocritical asshole, sometimes, Ryan Ross," he said. " _Fuck you._ "

"I'm a hypocrite?" he asked, in the nasty voice he saved for when he felt like he was losing a fight. "If we told the magazines about us, do you think your parents would have called at all?"

Brendon's eyes filled with tears, and Spencer's stomach dropped to his feet somewhere. "Guys," he started, but Brendon just shook his head and ran out. Spencer made a half-hearted grab for his arm, but Brendon didn't want to be stopped.

Jon looked at Spencer. "I'm gonna..." Jon started, and Spencer was glad, but he was also miserable; things had to be awful if even Jon noticed. "He probably needs some space, but just in case a hug will help..."

"Thank you," said Spencer fervently. When Jon was great he was _so_ great that Spencer was felt guilty for how often he _wished_ Jon would notice what was going on. Jon squeezed Spencer's shoulder and went after Brendon.

And then Spencer was just alone with Ryan. Ryan's face was still totally blank, like nothing had happened, or he was asleep, or made of stone. "Ryan," Spencer tried quietly. "You're not being fair."

"I don't care," said Ryan. He looked at Spencer, finally, and his eyes were bleak. "He's gonna get hurt, Spencer. They're not... They're the same assholes who kicked him out four years ago. They haven't changed."

"They called," said Spencer stubbornly. "Maybe they're not ready to welcome him back with open arms, but at least they called." In his heart of hearts Spencer was sure the whole thing would be a disaster, but he wasn't going to concede that to Ryan.

Ryan wasn't moving, so Spencer moved over to sit next to him on the couch. Once he was close enough he could hear the ragged edge to Ryan's breathing, and see the way he was pressing his folded arms into his chest so he wouldn't start shaking. "I don't understand why he'd even _want_ to see them," said Ryan. "They broke his heart, Spencer. It's not a thing you forgive."

"It's not a thing _you_ could forgive," corrected Spencer. "But we're talking about Brendon. He's made of sunshine and ponies and everything's gonna work out okay, remember? That's why you love him?" he prompted.

Ryan nodded stiffly. "This is different. This is bigger."

"He forgives you for stupid shit all the time."

"Maybe he shouldn't do that, either."

That hurt like a punch to the face. Spencer winced. "Jesus, Ryan," he sighed. "Now you're not being fair to yourself. What are you, planning to dump him for his own good? Have you two even _talked_ to each other about this?"

Ryan's shoulders were shaking just a little bit, one of the tells Spencer recognized from when they were kids together. "They won't like the band. They won't like who he is. I mean... They won't..." Ryan's voice got tiny. "They won't like me," he said finally, brokenly, and Spencer reached out and grabbed him in a hug

"Brendon's not choosing them over you," said Spencer softly.

Ryan hiccupped. "He's not choosing me over them, either," he whispered back. Spencer didn't know what to say to that, so he just kept his arms around Ryan and held on.

\\\\\

Mikey answered the door with, "Oh. It's you."

Brian thought maybe that meant problems. There was a one percent chance it was Frank—god Brian hoped Frank stopped by and punched Gerard in the face or something, and then the two of them could deal with whatever they were going through—but Mikey's tone was somewhere between suspicious and surprised. Brian turned the spaghetti down on the stove and stuck his head into the living room.

Greta was standing in the door. "Brian left his wallet at work," she said, holding it up. "I thought he might want it back."

"Oh," said Mikey again, and Brian could have sworn he sounded disappointed.

Brian was trying not to look too stupid in front of Greta. "Did I?" he said. "Shit, sorry. You didn't have to bring that all the way over here."

"Am I interrupting dinner or anything?" Greta asked. She was fidgeting, Brian realized suddenly. She was _nervous_ about stopping by. That was—That was sort of amazing. Brian bit the inside of his cheek so he didn't grin at her with Mikey standing right there.

Mikey rolled his eyes. "I don't think the spaghetti is going anywhere," he said. He went back over to the couch and took out his phone, texting someone with a serious expression on his face.

Greta stepped uncertainly into the house. "What's that?" she asked. She'd been to Brian's house a couple of times before over the last few months, but never when Gerard's art was hung up so prominently in the living room.

Mikey pointed. "That's the poster Gee made for Brendon's band. It's nice, right?" Brian was hovering in the kitchen doorway, just in case Mikey got grumpy and started giving Greta a hard time, but so far so good. "He won some art contest."

"Whoa, Gerard drew this?" said Greta. "I saw the rough sketches, but this is _amazing_."

There was no faster way to Mikey's heart, Brian knew, than to compliment Gerard. Mikey didn't quite smile, but he got as close as he ever did. "Yeah," Mikey said. "He's accepted to art school in New York."

"He's going away?" Greta asked. "I didn't realize."

Mikey sighed to himself a little. "He says he doesn't want to be here anymore." The incredulity was clear in his voice.

Greta reached out like she was going to pat him reassuringly on the shoulder and then caught herself. "That sucks," she said instead.

"So you were really in a band?" Mikey asked. It wasn't the most subtle transition ever, but it still worked.

Greta laughed. "Yeah," she said. "I used to sing and play piano and guitar in a band. You want a copy of our CD?'

"Sure," said Mikey. "That'd be cool."

"I'll give one to Brian," said Greta. "We toured Europe and everything a couple times. It was pretty awesome."

Mikey's eyes were wide and awed. "Cool," he said again, and gave Brian a look that was clearly meant to be significant, but Brian wasn't sure of what. "I'm gonna go upstairs and do my homework."

That was weird. Mikey considered homework pretty on par with getting teeth pulled. "Really?" said Brian. "What about dinner?"

Mikey looked at him again. "I'm not hungry," he said. "You guys should eat something, though. Not spaghetti. Spaghetti's boring."

"I'm just here to drop off your wallet," Greta said, "Don't let me interrupt."

"You should order something," said Mikey. "I can make a sandwich later." He shook his head and went upstairs.

Greta waited a second. "That's... Odd," she said. "What's with him?"

"I have no idea," said Brian. "That was unusually weird, even for Mikey."

Greta reached over and slipped her hand into Brian's. He tried not to get a giant, stupid smile on his face, but it took a lot of work. "So," Greta said.

"You want to eat? Maybe hang out for a while?" He glanced upstairs, but Mikey was already in his room, and Gerard wouldn't come down for anything less than a monster attacking the city.

Greta snorted. "I'm excited to see your idea of a date hasn't progressed since high school. Yeah, we can order food and hang out."

"I assure you, I was way less slick than that in high school," Brian said. "I would have made fun of you at lunch and stared at you creepily from across the classroom all the time."

"Smooth," Greta laughed. "You're not worried the kids will come downstairs? Where's Gerard?"

"Locked in his room. Staring at the wall and listening to Morrissey. I give _up_ , is this just being 18, or should I have him on suicide watch?"

"He told me he was having Frank problems," said Greta. "Did that get any better?"

Brian sighed. "They're not speaking to each other," he said. "It's awful."

Greta whistled sadly. "That poor kid," she said.

Brian squeezed her hand. "He'll get through it," he said. "He'll go to college, he'll meet new people."

Greta shook her head, and Brian agreed. Gerard wasn't going to find another Frank, and it was pretty devastatingly awful for everyone involved.

Greta sighed dramatically and flopped down on the couch, pulling Brian with her. He almost landed on her, but he caught himself with a hand on the back of the couch and his leg slung over hers. "You should call for food," said Greta. She tugged on his tie until he was straddling her, close enough to kiss.

"What do you want?" Brian asked. He couldn't stop smiling. She was so gorgeous, and funny, and supportive, and Mikey never went storming upstairs in a huff when she came over. He acted weird, sure, but it was _Mikey_. Weird was normal for him. "Chinese? Italian? Mexican?"

"You," said Greta, grinning at him. She pulled on his tie again, and he leaned down and kissed her. She tasted a little waxy from her lipstick, but she was soft and warm and she smelled amazing, and all Brian wanted was to touch her all the time.

Brian pulled back a little. "I like hanging out with you," he said. "See?"

"Mmm," Greta agreed. He leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her face. "Italian."

"What?"

"I'm hungry," Greta said. She reached over and handed him the phone. "I'm not gonna make out with you on the couch like we're hiding from your parents until you feed me."

"We're hiding from the kids, not the parents," Brian said, but he sighed and moved over.

Greta giggled into his shoulder. "That's so ridiculous," she said.

Brian put the phone down again for a second to grin at her like a total goofball. "I'm willing to be ridiculous for you," he said.

She leaned over and kissed him again. "You make me feel ridiculous," she said. "In the best possible way."

Brian couldn't stop smiling.

\\\\\

Brendon always had a post-show high, but after the Vegas show Spencer had to keep catching his arm and physically stopping him from running up and down the hallway to see if his parents had come by yet. Ryan, on the other hand, was sitting quietly on the couch backstage, looking at his hands. Spencer wanted to lock both of them in a room until they got their shit together, but there wasn't time.

"Spencer," said Brendon. "Spencer. Spencer Smith. The show was okay, right? The show was good? Because I couldn't... Do you think it was too much? Or was it like, not enough? What about—"

"It was fine, Brendon," Spencer reassured him. He was busy making piles of stage clothes to be sure they all got moved together and nothing got lost. He hadn't worried about it, and then Jon's shoes had been misplaced and he'd worn flip-flops onstage. Now he refused to wear anything else. Plus, Ryan kept losing his stage gloves. Spencer liked piles of things neatly arranged and ready to go.

"I just want it to be good," said Brendon fretfully. "My voice broke in the middle of the first song, I don't know if you noticed, but I totally lost the note, my voice went all flat, it was awful. And I didn't loop the cord enough, it crackled, you remember? I think I—"

"You sounded great, Brendon," said Ryan, not looking up.

Brendon beamed at him. "You think? Because I felt like maybe there was some extra energy on stage tonight, like maybe—"

Jon came up behind Brendon's neck and wrapped his arms around Brendon's shoulders, physically stopping him from bouncing. "You sounded good," he said. "You did a great job. They're gonna be impressed."

"But I—" Brendon started again, trying to squirm away.

Jon didn't let him. He looked at Spencer and rolled his eyes, but his voice was totally calm and comforting. "Everything was perfect, dude, I promise. You have to _chill_. Don't make me slip Ritalin in your water. Again."

"You never did that," Brendon said.

"I'm gonna write that idea down, though," said Spencer. "It'll go on our big list of ways to make Brendon shut up."

"You don't have a list like that," Brendon scowled. "You don't. Ryan wouldn't let you!"

Ryan shrugged. "I've never had trouble shutting you up," he said. "But I'd be kind of annoyed if Spencer and Jon decided to use kissing you as their technique."

Brendon giggled. "That is an _excuse_ , Ryan Ross," he said. "You don't fool anyone, okay?"

Zack stuck his head in. "Uh, I have Brendon's parents here to see you guys."

Everyone froze.

Brendon was mid-bounce, but he shrank a little bit back against Jon, who hooked his chin over Brendon's shoulder. Spencer was clutching Brendon's sweaty t-shirt with both hands, and he couldn't have let go for anything. Ryan squeezed his hands together more tightly in his lap and stared at his shoes.

"Yeah," said Spencer, since no one else was going to. "Why don't you bring them in?"

Zack gave him a "you sure?" look, and Spencer nodded, even though his stomach was flopping and his hands felt cold. He couldn't imagine how Brendon was feeling. Or Ryan. Mostly he just didn't want to accidentally scream at Brendon's parents and ruin everything, if it was even possible that things _might_ go well, which he doubted.

Zack opened the door again, and a couple of perfectly nice looking middle-aged people walked in. They looked just like Brendon, Spencer would have known them anywhere. Jon carefully let go of Brendon, but he was still standing close enough that if Brendon freaked someone was there.

"Brendon," said his mom carefully. "What a nice show."

Brendon shook his head. His mouth was open, but he wasn't saying anything, and his eyes were getting huge like they did before he cried. Spencer jumped in. "Thanks," he said. "I'm Spencer, that's Ryan, that's Jon. We're really glad you could make it out. Was the trip long?" Anything to give Brendon a minute or two to collect himself.

"Not too bad," said Brendon's father. Spencer tried to use his mind to make them _hug_ him, or look more excited to be there. They had the same doubtful expression carefully hidden under politeness that Spencer's parents got when they went out to dinner and the menu offered escargot. Like it was unfathomable, what they were seeing. "This place has great parking."

"It's really interesting," said Brendon's mother. "The bands were all so... Unique."

Jon winced, just a tiny little bit, but Spencer caught it. He wasn't letting himself react at all, although he knew his smile probably looked pretty strained at this point. Until _Brendon_ said otherwise, everything was fine. Even if Spencer had to murder people to make that true.

"Very entertaining," said Brendon's dad. "So. Brendon. How've you been?"

Brendon's voice shook. "I missed you," he said, clenching his hands into fists over and over, because he didn't know what to do with them. "I missed you _so much_."

"Honey," his mother said, and she opened her arms toward him, just a little bit, but it was enough that Brendon made a broken, choked noise and flew over to her. He clutched her like he was drowning, and she hugged him back, maybe not as enthusiastically as Spencer would have wished, but she looked on the verge of tears, too. Spencer had to bite his lip because it was actually sort of amazing.

"We're gonna..." said Brendon's father uncertainly. He patted Brendon on the back tentatively. Brendon's face was totally hidden in his mother's shoulder. "Do you mind if we borrow him for a while?"

Ryan looked up. "Not if you take good care of him," he said, and his tone was even and deceptively flat.

"Sure we will," said Brendon's dad, smiling, because he had no idea that if they broke Brendon's heart again Ryan was going to kill them, and Spencer would help. "C'mon." Brendon pried himself away from his mom long enough for his dad to put a friendly arm around him and lead them both out of the room.

The door shut and Spencer stood still for a long minute. "Okay," he said. "That could have been worse."

"I think it'll be fine," said Jon, shrugging. Spencer was too worried to respond to false cheer, so he just looked at Ryan.

Ryan's face was bleak. "You think he'll come back?" he said, and he tried to sound like he was joking, but he really, really wasn't.

"Don't be fucking stupid, Ross," Spencer ordered. He hadn't meant to sound so snappy, but sometimes Ryan was an idiot. "Of course he's coming back. We're his family. We're his _real_ family. He knows that. He's not going to abandon the tour and us on a whim." He knew it was true in his heart and in his brain, but he still sent a quick, ferocious thought in the direction of whomever might happen to be in charge of family reunions and the emotional musicians living through them.

Zack knocked again. "Okay, Spencer, this time it's your parents."

"Thank god," said Spencer. His mom and dad walked in, beaming.

"Boys!" said his mom. "Such a good job! You're real rock stars!" She hugged Spencer and then she hugged Jon and then she went over to the couch and hugged Ryan.

Spencer's dad made a totally embarrassing muppet face. "Are you guys too rich and famous to come out to dinner with us?" he asked, grinning around the room.

"We are never too famous for food," said Jon.

"Where's Brendon?" His mom asked.

Spencer bit his lip. "He's... His parents came by."

"Oh." His dad looked at his mom, and there was concern on their faces. Spencer loved his parents for being so amazing, even though he'd never admit that out loud.

"We should have dinner somewhere nearby," said Ryan. "In case... He comes back."

Spencer's parent's nodded. His mom still had her arm around Ryan, because she was awesome like that. "I was thinking ice cream," she said. "Maybe waffles?" That got a tiny smile out of Ryan, because that had been his favorite dinner when he was over at their house with his own family issues as a kid. Jon gave a big thumbs up.

"I love you guys," said Spencer accidentally. He hadn't meant to, it just slipped out. Damn it.

"I love them, too," Jon announced. "But I love anyone who gives me ice cream."

Spencer finished sorting the piles of clothes and then pulled Ryan to his feet. "It's gonna be okay," he said softly, fiercely.

"Yeah," Ryan said. He didn't sound convinced.  


///

Spencer's mom wanted them all to spend the night, and Crystal and Jackie wanted _Jon_ to spend the night, but Ryan was too worked up about whatever was going on with Brendon. He didn't say it, but Spencer could see the tension in the way he hunched in on himself, and the way he kept glancing at his phone, like he could make it ring. "He's fine," Spencer said over and over, but Ryan just shook his head.

A little after midnight Spencer told his parents they needed to head back because of band stuff, and his mom hugged him and told him to look after Ryan, because he needed it. "And next time I expect to see Brendon, clear?" she said, in a mock-threatening voice, and Spencer hugged her maybe a little tighter and harder than he'd meant to, but it had kind of been thrown in his face lately how much better his parents were than all the other parents in the world, and he probably owed her for his shitty attitude as a teenager.

They got a ride back to the bus—they didn't have hotel rooms because they'd figured on staying with family. Spencer's shoulders were crackling with tension, and it hurt, trying to carry around all of Ryan's worries and his own, and his worries _about_ Ryan. It was pretty clear that Ryan felt a little betrayed, and Ryan, backed into a corner, wasn't usually a very nice person.

Brendon was sitting outside the bus in the parking lot, leaning against the tires. He had his knees drawn up and his arms around them, and he was staring off into space, but he didn't jump when Spencer said, "What the fuck? Did you forget the door code?"

Brendon shook his head. "I was just... Vegas is so hot at night. It's like another planet. It's so dark, but it's still ninety degrees."

They all stood there for a second, awkwardly, and Spencer could feel Ryan clenching his hands into fists. "So?" Jon said finally. "How'd it go?"

Brendon shrugged. "Fine," he said.

Spencer's stomach plummeted. "Oh, god," he said, dropping to the hot pavement next to Brendon. "What happened?"

"Nothing," said Brendon. He put his chin on his knees.

"C'mon, Bden," Jon wheedled. "You can tell us."

Brendon had been doing a pretty good job of not looking at Ryan, but he slipped, and his eyes flickered up just long enough to catch Ryan's stony, cold expression. "Nothing," he said again. "It was just like it always was."

Ryan turned on his heel and walked off.

"Fuck," Spencer whispered under his breath. "Ryan!" he yelled, but Ryan had vanished inside the bus. Jon rolled his eyes and went after him.

"I'm always making him mad," Brendon said, picking at the hem of his jeans. "I'm pretty sure he... He thinks I'm an idiot."

"No, c'mon," said Spencer, kicking at Brendon's sneaker. "That's not—"

"It _is_ ," Brendon insisted. His voice was getting a little choked. "I couldn't figure out what he wanted in the songs, and I didn't figure out why he was talking to reporters like that, and I'm so dumb I thought my parents... I'm so _stupid_ I thought they—"

Spence's stomach was clenched up like he was going to puke, but he leaned his shoulder against Brendon's and said, "Thought what, Brendon?" It should have been Ryan. Later, Spencer was going to read Ryan the riot act. Remedial How Not To Be A Shitty Boyfriend 101.

Brendon inhaled shakily. "I thought they might have changed," he whispered. His face was all crumpled with the effort not to burst into tears, and that made Spencer want to cry. "But it was exactly like it always was. They were exactly the same people. But I'm not, I'm different, and they... It wasn't like they didn't want to see it, it was like they _couldn't_. They asked me about church," he said incredulously, and then had to stop and catch himself. "They asked me if I was married. They asked me if I had _kids_. Because I'm older than Kara was when she— _God_ , Spencer, they're exactly the same."

"Oh, Bren," said Spencer, putting his arm around Brendon. "That sucks."

Brendon hiccupped and nodded. "I don't know why I thought... How am I supposed to tell them about what I've been doing or all the stuff I've done or, or, or—"

"Or Ryan."

"Or _Ryan_ , when they don't even get... They don't get _anything_."

Brendon's shoulders were tight under Spencer's arm, so he tugged until Brendon was leaning against him, and squeezed until Brendon started breathing again. "You should talk to Ryan about this," said Spencer.

Brendon shook his head. "He's already mad at me. I've been screwing shit up since we started the band, I can't... He wouldn't... I _can't_."

Spencer wanted to insist—he was sure that Brendon and Ryan would have been a million times happier with each other if they'd just _talked—_ but Brendon's heartbreak was all over his face. "I can, if you want," Spencer sighed. "But he doesn't think you're stupid, okay? He loves you a lot."

" _I_ think I'm stupid," said Brendon, almost inaudibly.

Spencer tightened his arm around Brendon. "What did you tell them when you left?"

"That... That we should stay in touch." He looked helplessly at Spencer. "They're my parents. What was I supposed to say? I still _love_ them."

"You should call Brian," said Spencer.

"It's the middle of the night," Brendon objected, trying to wipe off his cheek without Spencer noticing, so Spencer pretended to look away. "I'm not gonna wake him up for some stupid—"

"Stop _saying_ that, or I'm gonna start hitting you," said Spencer. He pinched Brendon on the arm until Brendon squirmed and swore at him. "He knew you were seeing them tonight. He's still up, worrying about it."

"The time difference—"

" _Call_." Spencer wrestled Brendon's phone out of Brendon's pocket—the band had never had much sense of personal space, but especially not with Brendon—and handed it to him. "You have so much family, okay? Family that _does_ get you."

Brendon stared at him for a minute and then threw his arms around Spencer's neck. "Don't deserve you," he said indistinctly, and Spencer felt guilty.

He let Brendon cling for a long minute. "I'm going to go check on Ryan," Spencer said finally. "Call Brian."

Brendon nodded and sat back, flipping the phone open. Spencer waited until he heard an uncertain, "Brian? I'm sorry for waking you up. You... Oh. Yeah, Spencer said you might be. I'm... I'm fine. It was weird, though. Yeah... No, not really like I was hoping, I guess." Then Spencer stood up and went inside to look for Ryan.

\\\\\\\

  
Gerard wasn't stalking Frank. That would have been creepy and weird.

All Gerard was doing, okay, was making sure he knew where Frank went during lunch. Frank usually went up to the yearbook room, but that was a privilege, not a right, and if Frank was abusing it by, say, making out with Emily, someone had to let the teachers know. So it was not at all creepy that Gerard followed Frank upstairs and then very casually walked by the door once or twice or four times to see what was going on.

So far, he hadn't seen Frank do anything except sit with Emily and goof around on the computers. Well, and one time he tried to skateboard down the stairway railing and fell and almost knocked his tooth in. Gerard heard about that from Bob and Ray, who assured him that there was blood everywhere. Gerard couldn't decide if he wanted to hug Frank for getting hurt, or smack him for being so stupidly _Frank_.

Instead, mostly, he followed Frank surreptitiously around the school and tried not to get called out for skulking. He was pretty good at predicting where Frank was going to go and then totally avoiding running into him there. He didn't want to actually talk to Frank. He didn't know what he'd say if Frank came running out of the yearbook room and saw him. Part of Gerard wanted to grovel and apologize, but more of him was mad. He'd _tried_ to apologize, and Frank had gone out to a movie with someone else. Frank sucked. Gerard had a whole list of insults ready to go just in case he needed to use them—nasty, mean things about Frank and his house and his mom and his grades and his stupidity.

Ray and Bob asked him where he was going the first few days, and then started rolling their eyes and ignoring him. Gerard appreciated that. They were good friends; they understood that when things were upside-down you had to go with it. Mikey gave him a decent amount of shit about skipping lunch every day, but Mikey had been sneaking off for something of his own, so he wasn't around much anyway.

Gerard had a notebook full of cartoon scribbles of Frank, which, if anyone else ever found it, was going to look sort of incriminating. The storylines varied pretty wildly—in Gerard's favorite strips, Frank came and groveled and told Gerard how he was right and Emily was stupid and ugly and Frank was heartbroken without him. In some of the others Gerard accidentally ran into them while they were out on a date and then Gerard did something awesome, like save Frank from a bear attack, and then Frank made Emily cry by dumping her, and he and Gerard went off together into the sunset.

There were a couple where Gerard died suddenly and unexpectedly—heart attack, or smallpox, or vampire attack—and Frank had to give the eulogy at Gerard's funeral. In those pictures Frank couldn't stop crying and apologizing for all the shitty things he'd done to Gerard, and he begged over and over for Gerard to come back to life so he could say sorry in person. Then in some of the strips Gerard _did_ come back to life as a vampire, and he killed Frank, and then they were vampires together forever. But in some of them Gerard was just _dead_ , and Frank had to deal with that.

Gerard was pretty sure if the school psychologist got his hands on those notebooks, Gerard was gonna end up in a parent-teacher conference and maybe a psych ward. There would be a certain awesomeness to getting committed to a mental hospital because of Frank, and Gerard was cool with that. It would make him tragic and mysterious, instead of just the weird kid lurking around school.

Ray came running up and smacked Gerard on the shoulder. "Holy shit," Ray squeaked, "There's something going down in the courtyard with Mikey." He grabbed Gerard—Gerard almost dropped his exceptionally incriminating drawings—and dragged him down the hallway.

How could anything be going on with Mikey? Gerard wondered. Mikey was so under the radar at school that no one even knew he was Gerard's brother, which was probably for the best, as far as Mikey's social status was concerned. There was all kinds of yelling going on outside, and a huge group of kids standing around, which usually meant a fight, but... Mikey didn't fight. Mikey just glared at people from over his glasses and rolled his eyes.

Gerard shoved his way to the front, because that was his brother, okay. He was greeted by the most improbable thing he'd ever imagined in his life; Mikey, standing in the middle of a circle of shouting kids, with blood dripping out his nose. On the other side of the circle was Pete, tie all askew, with blood on _his_ face, too.

"You suck, Mikey Way!" Pete yelled. He was crying, Gerard realized. Gerard was gaping, because he didn't know what else to do. "I hate you!"

"It just happened," said Mikey, and shrugged. That was Mikey's I'm Sorry shrug, not his I Don't Care shrug, but Pete apparently didn't know that, because he yelled and flailed and launched himself at Mikey with a crazy noise, knocking them both to the ground.

They rolled over, Mikey kicking kind of wildly and Pete waving his arms around. If either of them hit the other it was pretty clearly going to be by accident, but Gerard couldn't just stand there and do nothing. He dropped his bag and lunged for Mikey, trying to drag him off of Pete, or Pete off of him.

Someone hit Gerard in the face, but not on purpose. He swore as tears sprang up in his eyes, but he didn't let go of Mikey's boney arm. "Stop it!" Gerard yelled. "You two stupid fuckheads, knock it off!" He yanked on Mikey, and someone else was yanking on Pete, and then they sort of fell apart.

"It was an accident," Mikey said insistently.

"How did you _kiss my girlfriend_ on _accident_?" Pete demanded hysterically. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

Gerard looked up. Frank was holding Pete back, with his arms wrapped around Pete's torso. Mikey didn't look much like he wanted to fight anymore, but he also looked stubborn, so Gerard kept a hand around his arm. "You kissed Alicia?" he asked in a low voice.

Mikey shrugged again. "It just _happened_ ," he insisted. "She kissed _me_."

"Shit, Mikey," said Gerard. "That's... That's really fucking stupid."

A teacher elbowed his way through the crowd. It was Mr. Benson, and he looked mad enough to spit nails. "What the hell is going on?" he roared. "Am I getting the principal? Was this a _fight_?"

The crowd melted away astonishingly quickly, and suddenly it was just Gerard and Mikey, sprawled on one side, and Frank, Ray, and Pete on the other. "Uh," said Gerard hopefully. "No?"

"It had better not be!" Mr. Benson yelled. "Get out of here! Right now! All of you!"

Mikey shook himself free of Gerard and said, "Fine." He shot Pete a look, and Pete made an incoherent yelling noise and would have grabbed him, except Frank was still holding him.

"I got him," said Ray. "Let's go get you some water, okay?" He pulled Pete to his feet. Ray was an awesome peacemaker.

"She _kissed_ him!" Pete wailed, bursting into tears, but he let Ray drag him back into the school.

"One more peep out of any of you," said Mr. Benson threateningly. Mikey stormed off in the opposite direction Pete had gone.

Which meant it was just Frank and Gerard, somehow. All the insults Gerard had prepared vanished and he was left just standing there, blank-brained. He snuck a glance up at Frank, who was red-faced and huffing a little from grabbing Pete.

"Uh," said Gerard.

"What?" Frank demanded, crossing his arms.

" _What_ what?" Gerard snapped right back. Nothing ever came out right when he was trying to talk to Frank, but if Frank was going to be mean, Gerard was going to be mean right back. It hurt, like knives stabbing him all over, the way Frank was glaring at him. If Gerard was hurting, Frank should hurt, too.

"You're stalking me," said Frank peevishly. "I saw you in the hallway."

Gerard immediately felt defensive. "I am not!" he said. "You're the one fucking around during yearbook when you're supposed to be doing work."

"No, I'm hanging out with my friends," said Frank, scowling. "At least I have some."

"Yeah? Well your friends _suck_ ," Gerard shot back. "David's so stupid he failed remedial English. He's only in yearbook to make up the credit. And Emily thinks _Alan Moore_ wrote Sandman."

"I'm gonna punch you in a minute," said Frank.

Gerard absolutely refused to cry. He'd cried enough. He'd gone all the way through sad and come out the other side furious. "Yeah," he said, "because _you're_ too stupid to argue with me. You were always following me around, copying what I did. You're just sad because you don't have me around to copy anymore."

"You're just sad because you don't have any friends!" Frank hollered. "You'd never have met Bob _or_ Ray without me! The only person you even talk to is your _little brother_ , how pathetic are you?"

Okay, maybe Gerard was going to cry a little. "Fuck you!" he yelled. "I can't... I can't believe I wasted four years of my life on you!"

"I'm the one who was wasting time," Frank screamed back. "I'm the one who could have had friends and a _life_ this whole time!"

Gerard's eyes burned and if he blinked Frank was going to know he was crying. "I won't waste any more of your time, then," he said, with as much dignity as he could possibly drag up. "You should go get whatever stupid fucking thing you think is a _real life_ with all those stupid fucking people who suck. I hope you have _fun._ I hope you _choke_ on it."

"Better than hanging out with you!" Frank yelled, but Gerard had already grabbed his bag and started walking away.

He kept his back rigid and his shoulders up until he was around the corner, and then he couldn't help himself from curling in a little bit. Tears were streaming down his face, and Bob and Ray were gonna hear about it pretty soon—they'd probably go hang out with Frank, they'd probably always liked Frank better, even Mikey probably liked Frank better, everything was over, everything was ruined, everything was—

"Gerard Way?" Mr. Benson said, frowning. Gerard hadn't even seen him standing there, he'd been so caught up in the cathedral of horror that was his life now.

"Yeah?" Gerard said, wiping his face on his sleeve.

"The school is calling your dad about the altercation between your brother and Pete. They're going to want to talk to you, too. You need to go to the principal's office."

Of-fucking-course he did. "Whatever," Gerard said. He didn't care. Things were as bad as they could be, so what was the point in giving a fuck anymore? He tried to close himself off, to be as cold as he could manage, but he was still hiccupping a little bit from trying not to cry.

Brian would be pissed. Brian would be _so_ pissed. He'd probably kick them both out for getting in trouble again—But. No. Gerard wasn't so miserable that he could convince himself of that. Brian loved them, even when they were fucking stupid. He'd said so. He'd yell and he'd rant and he'd ground them, but he wouldn't really be mean. Brian sucked at mean. Thank god for Brian, seriously.

"Mr. Way," said Mr. Benson.

"I'm going!" Gerard snapped, and hunched under his bag. Being mad was a pretty good way to forget about being sad, as it turned out. He decided to concentrate on that, instead.

\\\\\

Ryan was acting squirrely.

Spencer's sarcastic inner monologue wanted to know how he could _possibly tell_ ; wasn't Ryan Ross the definition of squirrely anyway?

Spencer's sarcastic inner monologue could shut up. He'd spent years learning about the different types of Ryan Weirdnesses, and this was way closer to the Something's Up With My Dad end of the scale than the I'm Writing Meaningful Poetry end. For one thing, Ryan was avoiding Spencer, and he only did that when he was planning something he knew Spencer would disapprove of. Like dropping out of college, for example. He'd stopped answering Spencer's phone calls for three weeks before that.

Honestly, though, on a scale of one-to-weird, Brendon was just about tied with Ryan. They were avoiding each other, and they were avoiding Spencer. If they were avoiding Jon no one had said anything about it. Brendon spent a lot of time sitting on the couch of the bus, with his knees drawn up and his chin on them, staring into space. It was disconcerting, seeing him so still. It made Spencer suspicious.

Spencer couldn't decide if it was a good idea to force the two of them to talk to each other and hash stuff out, or to let them go on claiming things were fine and acting like things were awful. Either one was probably a bad idea. Ryan got upset when he was confronted—more upset—and Brendon hated confrontation, even if he was dying of misery. Spencer turned it over and over in his head, and in the meantime he buried himself in keeping the tour calendar straight and the merchandise tallied, and making sure the label had all the info they needed. There was a shitload of stuff to do, and Spencer was happy to do it, if it kept things running smoothly.

The concerts were fine, though. Brendon was one hell of a professional, and you never knew on stage how upset he was offstage. Ryan never came out of his shell onstage much anyway, so the audience wasn't expecting him to talk. Spencer and Jon acted just like they always did—or Spencer did, trying to cheer Ryan up a little, and encourage Brendon. Jon was in his own world on stage, eyes closed and sometimes shoes off.

They got to do real soundchecks, now, which was pretty cool. Spencer was in charge of the calendar, but he couldn't always remember where they were. It was underground, and kind of dark; maybe the Middle East in Boston? Or maybe that club in New York? They all looked alike after a while. Spencer loved touring, but it was also disorienting being somewhere new that looked alike.

"Play something, Brendon," said Tony, the sound guy.

Brendon grinned and waved and started noodling around. It took Spencer a minute to realize he was playing Yesterday, by the Beatles. By the time Spencer looked over, Ryan was already scowling. He hid it pretty well, staring at his shoes and looking at his guitar instead of at Brendon. "Ryan," Spencer sighed. Brendon wasn't doing it on purpose to bring up that stupid fight again. It was just a song Brendon liked.

"That's great, Bren, can you sing, too?" Tony asked.

Brendon bounced a little. He was such a different person on stage. "You got it," he said, and launched into an enthusiastic and almost tuneless version of Yes We Have No Bananas. The sound guy and Zack started laughing, which just meant Brendon got louder and sillier.

Ryan was trying to tune his guitar, and he wasn't as good as it with background noise as he should have been. "Hey, can you take it down a little?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

Brendon stopped dead. "Oh," he said. "Sure." And then, under his breath but close enough to the mic that Ryan could hear him, "You're so sensitive."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ryan asked quietly, looking up.

Brendon looked surprised to have been caught. He laughed uncertainly. "I'm just saying," he said, shrugging and putting his hands in his pockets. "You get all upset sometimes, it's no big deal."

"Guys," said Spencer, glancing at Zack and then Tony. "Now is not the time."

" _I_ get upset sometimes?" Ryan asked. "I'm not the one who _cries_ at the drop of a hat."

Brendon stopped laughing. "Yeah?" he said. "Well I'm not the one who ignores people when they're upset."

"I'm not the one who puts myself in the fucking position to _be_ upset, on _purpose_ ," Ryan snapped. His tone was low, and cold, and Spencer would have decked him if he'd talked like that to him.

He half expected Brendon to burst into tears—Ryan wasn't _wrong_ , he was just a jerk—but Brendon had his chin up and his mean face on. Spencer kept forgetting Brendon had a mean face, because he brought it out so rarely. "Hey," Brendon said fake-cheerfully. "It turns out Ryan has an opinion about what's going on with me! That's fucking _shocking_ , who knew he even _noticed_?"

"Ohhhhh," said Jon, backing up a step.

"I noticed," said Ryan. "I always notice. Every little thing you freak out about, I notice. Every day, when some new disaster means the sky is falling on poor little Brendon, I notice."

It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. Spencer couldn't think of a single fucking thing to say to stop the carnage.

"Maybe," said Brendon tightly, "I'm trying to get you to _react_ to something for once. To act like you _care_."

"I don't think we have to scream every fucking thing that happens," Ryan snapped. Spencer could see his knuckles getting white around the frets of his guitar.

"And I wouldn't make such a big deal out of everything if my boyfriend would act like he _cared_ now and then!" Brendon yelled. He made a big fake shocked face. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I just tell your stupid fucking secret? I mean, I'm not allowed to hold your hand or anything, so for all I know I'm _not_ your boyfriend anymore. You never did let me in on the master plan."

The whole place was silent. Zack was staring, open mouthed, and Jon was shaking his head slowly, like he could stop what he was hearing. Brendon's face was red, but he wasn't crying, he was shaking with anger.

Ryan looked like he'd been punched, but he narrowed his eyes. "If you feel that way, then maybe you shouldn't be," Ryan said, in his quietest, most deadly voice.

Brendon's chin jerked up. "I..." he started, and then caught himself. "Sure," he snapped. "Fine. Fuck you, Ryan Ross."

This time it was Ryan who turned and fled. Spencer hadn't expected that; he'd expected Brendon to cry, or apologize, or back down. But Brendon was still standing there, hands on his hips, chin up, shaking a little bit, but wildly, angrily defiant.

"Holy shit," Jon whispered.

Spencer opened his mouth, but he had no idea what to say. He just looked at Brendon, trying to figure out what was going on.

"I mean it," said Brendon. His voice was trembling, but he was a good enough actor to sound confident to anyone who hadn't known him for years. "If he can't... If I'm not good enough for him, I... He can go fuck himself, I didn't go through all this shit just to... To sit around and.. And..."

There was a minute when you could actually see Brendon break; in between one breath and the next he started to crumple, although he didn't fall. He looked like he was dying; his shoulders curled in, and he took a couple of deep, heaving, shaking breaths. He didn't cry, but his eyes were shiny and his face was still red.

"Brendon," Spencer said quietly. Everyone was staring, the tech guys and Zack and Jon and everyone, and Brendon was just standing there on stage, holding his guitar and trying not to cry. "He didn't mean it. You didn't mean it. You can't." Spencer didn't have unshakeable faith in many things, but the idea that Ryan loved Brendon and Brendon loved Ryan—that was bedrock truth.

"I _did_ mean it," Brendon said. He almost lost it again, forced himself to look up at Spencer. "I'm not... If he doesn't care, Spencer, I can't... Things suck too hard to pretend they're okay." He flashed Zack a big, fake, watery smile. "Don't we need to check the other mics?"

Zack nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Sure. Yo, Tony, give me the sound on two."

Spencer looked at Jon. Jon shrugged helplessly. What the _fuck_ were they going to do now?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summer**

Brian got to work late because Gerard was throwing a fit and refused to go to school—he didn't want to go to graduation, so he didn't see why he needed to go in for graduation rehearsal. Brian had tried reasoning with him for a little while, and then given up and yelled, "Because I _said_ so!" That argument never worked with Gerard, but sometimes it was literally the only thing he could think of to say.

Mikey had been skipping school off and on, too, since the end of the suspension for punching Pete. Brian was sure that had been an accident—he couldn't imagine a world in which Mikey took a swing at someone and actually _connected_ on _purpose_ —but the school hadn't cared. Mikey and Pete had both gotten suspended. Brian had expected Mikey to repeat some of Gerard's problems in school, but not these problems. God.

Brian stormed into his office, because he was in a rotten fucking mood from trying to deal with his kids. The office was oddly quiet, and Gabe and Alex were standing by the front desk, holding coffee and staring down the hall.

"What?" Brian asked, stomach sinking. Quiet Gabe never boded well.

Alex tilted his head. "Greta has a visitor," he said, and he and Gabe exchanged a look.

Brian worked like hell to keep his face blank. What did _that_ mean? "A visitor?" he echoed.

Gabe waggled his eyebrows around like crazy. "A _man_ ," he said. "We think it's an ex-boyfriend. We're pretty sure."

"Gabe means he was eavesdropping," Alex translated.

Gabe was unrepentant. "They shut the door to her office. Then there was yelling. I love office drama!"

The look Gabe was giving Brian _could not_ have been coincidental. It just couldn't have been. Brian's face got a little hot. "What?" Brian asked. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Not yelling like anyone was in danger," Alex clarified. "Yelling like romantic drama."

Gabe was still staring at Brian. Brian dropped his eyes to the floor. "Huh," he said. "Interesting."

There was a long, awkward minute. Brian waited for Gabe to call him out—Gabe was the least discreet person on earth—but Gabe just stared at him. Eventually Alex said, "Well? Brian? Aren't you going to go interrupt?"

Brian narrowed his eyes at Alex, but Alex had a truly tremendous innocent face. It was how he managed to spend the whole day with Gabe, Brian imagined. "If Greta's having a fight with her ex-boyfriend it's none of my business," he said. His mouth was completely dry.

"Oh," Alex said blandly. "Because I thought you were into her. My bad." He shrugged and sat down at the desk, logging in to the computer.

Brian didn't groan, but it was a close thing. "I'm going into my office," he announced. "Today sucks so far. Someone should get on that."

"So you concede that I control your destiny with my brain!" Gabe yelled after him, but Brian ignored him and shut the door to his office.

He sat down and stared at the wall blankly.

It was none of his business if Greta was in there with anyone. They hadn't talked about anything. They hadn't done anything besides act like stupid, horny teenagers, making out at Brian's house and sometimes in his car. They hadn't talked about telling Gerard and Mikey or Gabe and Alex. Brian had been trying _not_ to do that, actually, in case... Well. He didn't know if it was worse if it was going somewhere—what the hell would he tell the boys?—or if it wasn't. Because he liked her. He liked her _so much_ it made him a little stupid.

Alex swung the door open a crack. "He's leaving," he said. "Not that you care."

"Go away," Brian said. Alex grinned and shut the door.

Brian made himself count to ten. And then ten again. And then— _damn you, Alex Suarez_ —he swung the door open and stuck his head out in the hall.

Greta was standing there, arms crossed tightly. Facing her was a skinny red-headed guy, who looked pretty upset. So did Greta. Brian's stomach lurched. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but he knew that they'd been in a band together. They'd been pretty serious. They'd been in love.

"You have to go, Bob," Greta said tightly.

"I figured it out, I'm telling you," the ex, Bob, said. "I love you. You're what's been missing, why won't you listen—"

"Stop it," she said. "I'm at _work_. I can't believe you came down here."

"I'll go, okay, but you have to talk to me. Meet me for dinner."

Greta looked like she might cry. So did Bob. She glanced up and saw Brian and winced—not the reaction he was hoping for—and Greta hissed, "Fine." Brian felt absolutely ill. "I'll—We'll have dinner, call me later, but _don't_ come back here, I'll have Gabe _kill_ you, okay? Clear?"

Gabe appeared out of nowhere. "You want me to kill someone?" he said, and his tone was verging on hopeful. "Anything for you, hot stuff."

"I'll see you later," said Greta's ex, and then he ducked out, looking a little nervously at Gabe. Brian was glad Gabe was seven feet tall.

Greta pressed her lips together for a minute. "The show's over," she snapped finally. "You can all go back to talking about me. I'll leave the room and everything." She turned and slammed the door to her office shut.

Gabe looked at Brian. "I will kill him, if you want," he said. "I'd be good at it. No one would find the body."

Brian shook his head. "I... I'll talk to her later," he lied. "Don't worry about it." Then he went to hide in his office.

\\\\\

One more show on the tour and then they had two weeks off, and then they were touring again. Bigger venues, bigger shows, third opening band with a music video and a CD that was selling. Spencer should have been happy.

"You okay?" Jon asked casually, kicking back on the couch.

"I'm fine," Spencer snapped back. He didn't mean to snap, Jon didn't deserve snapping. Just. The next tour needed planning and there were lists and lists of things to get ready for, and even more lists of things to make sure didn't get lost between the two tours. There was a lot to _do_ , and maybe Spencer was busy doing them so he wouldn't have to think about Brendon and Ryan, but whatever. He was busy.

"Okay," said Jon calmly, flipping on the DVD player.

Spencer had a flash of serious anger at Jon, which he stuffed back down. Jon couldn't read Spencer's mind. Jon didn't know that Spencer was freaking out. It was just—Jon _should_ have known. How could Jon have been in the band for the last three weeks and _not fucking noticed_ how awful everything was?

Spencer hated Jon's bland expression and the way he walked around smiling all the time. Spencer hated that Jon wasn't as broken up inside as Spencer was, every time he saw Brendon slip off the bus without Ryan noticing, or Ryan stare into space and refuse to look up at Brendon for hours at a time on the road. Why didn't Jon _care_? Spencer felt like he hadn't taken an easy breath in weeks, and there was Jon, smiling to himself and watching the O.C.. Spencer couldn't decide if he was choking on jealousy or something a lot worse.

"I can hear you staring at me," said Jon agreeably. "You want to let me know what's up?"

"Nothing," Spencer said, clenching his teeth. He wasn't going to throw anything at Jon. He wasn't going to start screaming. It wasn't Jon's problem, apparently, and that was fine. It was one more thing for Spencer to handle. He could. He could handle everything. He'd figure out how to fix them all and then he _would_ , and everything would go back to how it was supposed to be.

"Yo, Ryan," said Jon, waving.

Ryan had lost weight, somehow, not that he had any to lose in the first place. He waved warily to Jon and glanced at Spencer out of the corner of his eye, because he knew Spencer was fucking pissed at him. "What's up?" Ryan asked quietly.

"We were just chillin'," said Jon. "Come hang out."

"I... Okay." Ryan looked at Spencer again, so Spencer stared really hard at his laptop. He didn't want to get into it with Ryan. Not in front of Jon.

Ryan sat down gingerly on the couch. "One more show," he said.

"Home for Gerard's graduation," Jon agreed. He looked at Ryan and then at Spencer, and maybe he wasn't _entirely_ oblivious, because he could clearly sense the tension. "Hey, who wants donuts? I want donuts. Spencer?"

"Whatever," said Spencer flatly. "I'm busy."

"Ryan?"

Ryan had his hands clenched in his lap. "I'm not hungry," he said.

"You haven't been hungry in a month," said Jon, and patted Ryan on the knee. "I'm gonna go see where we're parked. I think there's a 7-11, and I want donuts. Be right back." He jumped up and off the bus.

There was a long silence. It crackled a little bit. Spencer could feel it in his shoulders. "He's not here," he said after a minute. "He got up early and went out for a walk."

"Okay," said Ryan.

"I mean, in case you were wondering. In case you've decided to apologize."

"Don't be a bitch about it, Spence," Ryan sighed.

Spencer slammed the laptop shut. "Excuse me?"

"I get that you're on his side. You don't have to rub it in."

Spencer was so angry he couldn't breathe. He was on his feet, somehow, because it was easier to yell while he was standing. "You asshole," he started. He couldn't believe how often he'd said that to Ryan lately. "This is... This is _everything_ you _ever_ said you wanted. This is the band, Ryan. We're touring the country, we might get to see the world. That's _everything you ever wanted_ , and you fucked it up so badly, Ryan."

Ryan stared at the floor.

"You have people who love you, and a boyfriend who loves you, and a band, Ryan, and _no fucking shit_ I'm mad at you, but it's not because I'm on _anyone's side_. I just want... All I'm trying to do is _fix it!_ "

Ryan said quietly, "I would if I could."

"You keep saying that!" Spencer yelled. "But you haven't tried! You two haven't said a word to each other in three weeks!"

Ryan didn't look up. "Because it's not fixable," he said. "Because there's nothing I can say."

"You're so stupid," Spencer said. "Have you tried 'I'm sorry'?"

Ryan's glare was withering. "We're not in kindergarten."

"Right," Spencer agreed. "So you need something bigger. Something more serious. He was a jackass, too. But if you said you were sorry he'd forgive you so fast—"

"You make it sound easy," Ryan sneered. "It's not. It's complicated."

"I know that—"

Ryan folded his arms. "He has a couple of weeks to cool off between tours. He has time to... Be by himself. To calm down. I mean, eventually he'll stop being so angry. He never stays mad for too long."

That was tragically true. Spencer kept waiting for Brendon to break down and apologize to Ryan, but so far it hadn't happened. Mostly because Brendon was very careful to only see Ryan onstage. Spencer felt sick. "So you're going to just wait for him to forgive you and come back to you? Ryan, that's... That's awful. You're not that much of an asshole. You're _not_."

Ryan shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "That's not... Who said he was going to come back to me?"

Spencer stared at him for a long second before he figured out what Ryan meant. "So it's just over," he said blankly. "You're just... Done?"

"I screwed it all up," Ryan said, shifting uncomfortably. "It can't be fixed. But maybe the band can be saved, if I leave him alone, and give him some space."

"No," Spencer ordered. His throat was closing off. Spencer never cried, but this was so magnificiently, awfully, horribly stupid that he could feel his eyes starting to burn. "You're not... You _love_ him. He _loves_ you. You don't just have one fight and—"

"It wasn't one fight," said Ryan quietly. "It was lots of stuff."

" _No_ ," Spencer repeated. "It was lots of stupid little stuff that just built up—"

"Spencer." Ryan looked at him again. "If he... If he wants me to quit the band, I will."

"How would you even know?" Spencer demanded bitterly, because he wasn't going to cry. "You haven't talked to him! You're supposed to try!"

Ryan just looked at him.

"No," said Spencer. "I'm not asking him for you. Fuck you— _fuck you_ , Ryan."

"Think about it," said Ryan. He stood up. "Tell Jon I'm not hungry, okay?"

Spencer realized as Ryan slipped off the bus that his hands were shaking. Fuck, his whole _body_ was shaking. What if Ryan never got over this? What if he never started acting sensible about anything? What if Brendon lost his shit, too? What if the band fell apart, and there was nothing Spencer could do, and he lost both of his best friends, and—

He sat down, hard, on the floor. His knees weren't working right, and all he wanted to do was get ten damn minutes where there were no crises, just... Ten minutes of peace and quiet and no one losing his mind or needing Spencer to handle anything. Ten minutes where no one he loved was falling apart. That wasn't so much to ask, was it?

His chest hurt and he couldn't really breathe. Everything felt tight and achy and _wrong_. He wanted to cry, but Spencer hadn't cried in years and he wasn't fucking about to start now. Spencer let himself put his face in his hands, just for a second. Just to get a moment of quiet and dark and _alone_.

When he looked up, Jon was there.

Spencer said, "Oh, shit," without even being sure why, and started to scramble to his feet. Jon, crouched on the floor in front of him with a puzzled, worried expression, grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

"What was that?" Jon asked.

Spencer really couldn't handle anyone's concerned voice right now. "Nothing," he said firmly. "I'm fine—"

"Nothing?" Jon echoed, reaching forward. Spencer wasn't sure why, until he felt Jon brush his cheek. Fuck, he'd been crying. Well, almost crying; it didn't count. He hadn't realized.

"Stop it," said Spencer, batting at Jon's hand. Jon still had a hold of Spencer's arm, though, and he wasn't letting go. "Let me—Jon. I need to find Brendon, and someone has to talk Ryan down from his new stupid idea."

Jon bit his lip. "Yeah?" he said. "What did Ryan say?"

"Nothing," said Spencer fiercely. He wasn't going to let Ryan ruin himself, and the band, and Brendon's life, too. "I just... I just needed a second to myself." He hoped Jon got the hint and offered to leave again, because Spencer honestly couldn't look at his big stupid eyes and his worried smile for another minute. Jon _still_ wasn't upset, somehow, _damn_ him.

"You were crying," Jon pointed out.

"Fuck you, no I wasn't," said Spencer. "I'm just... Things are bad with Ryan and Brendon, okay, and Ryan's getting _worse_ somehow. The band's going to end up falling apart. And someone has to make sure Ryan doesn't throw himself off a cliff, and Brendon's been so quiet since they fought, and I—"

He was getting hysterical, which almost never happened, but the words were just falling out, all the things he'd been trying not to tell anyone, because they all had problems enough already. "Wow," said Jon. "I didn't know you were worried about all that stuff. That's intense."

"Because you don't even _care_ ," Spencer almost yelled. He tried to shove Jon away, but Jon kept an arm around him. "Let go, Jon, you don't even—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Jon, frowning. "I don't what?"

"You're always so _calm_ , I fucking _hate_ you sometimes," Spencer said. He'd already gone ahead and told Jon half of all the crazy things in his head; he might as well say the rest.

Jon pursed his lips. "Explain," he ordered.

"You—You—You just _sit there_ and you _smile_ no matter what happens and Brendon could be bleeding to death and you'd just go 'Okay,' and shrug and act like nothing was happening!" Spencer's voice cracked. He'd done a lot of unexpected yelling today.

Jon considered that for a minute. Spencer's heart was in his throat "You never tell me what's going on," Jon said finally. "You bottle everything up and act like the world's about to end, and when I ask you what's up you say 'nothing.'"

"That's different!" Spencer protested. All that anger transformed itself into guilt immediately. Shit, had he done that? He had, oh god, he'd done that ten minutes ago.

"So I'm just supposed to _know_?" Jon asked. "That's not fair."

"I _know_ ," Spencer said, and yeah, okay, maybe now he was on the brink of tears. He'd never really fought with Jon before, and it hurt all over. "But it's... I didn't want to make you upset when you weren't, that would be pretty dickish of me. And I couldn't tell you what I was worried about, because—Because—Because—"

Jon squeezed his arm. "Yeah?" he prompted.

"Because it's _everything_ ," Spencer said miserably. "It's so overwhelming, it's Brendon, and it's Ryan, and it's the tour, and it's endless lists of stuff we have to do, and things that might go wrong, it's _everything_ , Jon, and you don't need to... I don't want you to know how screwed up _I_ am, I... Oh my god." He buried his face in his hands again.

There was a long, awful silence. Jon was totally going to storm out on Spencer's crazy ass, and Spencer would deserve it. He hadn't been fair to Jon at all, he'd been too busy being mad, and _Jon_ ought to be mad, Spencer had been awful, a truly, spectacularly awful boyfriend, and now—

"Oh, baby," said Jon. He wrapped his arms around Spencer. "I had no idea you were so fucked up about this stuff."

Spencer couldn't breathe for a second. He tried to push Jon away, but Jon wouldn't move. "I'm not," he said helplessly into Jon's shoulder. Jon was normally too short to pull this kind of shit, but when they were both sitting down it was different. "You're supposed to be mad at me."

Jon's beard was rubbing against his neck a little bit. It felt nice. "I mean," he said. "I guess I knew about a lot of it. You're not very good at keeping your OCD on the downlow, Smith."

"Yes, I am," Spencer protested. "You didn't know—" He didn't usually feel younger than Jon, but somehow right then he felt years younger. Decades younger.

"Spence," said Jon firmly. "Your DVDs are alphabetized by director and arranged by genre. You have every receipt for everything we've ever bought, and you use the calculator in your phone to figure out the tip when we go out. _I knew_ you were an anal, organized, list-maker okay?"

"Yeah, but—"

"And I love the way you think Ryan is your responsibility, I do. I love the way you love Brendon, too. You are an awesome person, and I love you, full stop."

Spencer wanted to explain that he wasn't awesome, it was just what he _did_ , he was the guy who _handled stuff_ , he was Brendon's rock and Ryan's support, and the band's secret manager. Someone had to do it. But it all sounded too pathetic to say to Jon, and maybe he just wanted to sit there for a few minutes with Jon's arms around him, letting his shoulders shake.

He wasn't crying, though. Jon Walker was a filthy liar. Spencer was 100 percent dry-eyed. He just happened to feel like his heart was thumping through his chest. And he was having a little trouble swallowing around the lump in throat. Maybe his eyes were stinging, too. Anything else was fabrication by Jon.

"I guess," said Jon slowly, "I just thought maybe you needed me to act like things were okay. I was trying to be supportive by not losing my shit about all this stuff."

"Oh," said Spencer, in a small voice. That made sense. It sounded like a Jon thing to do. He wrapped his arm around Jon's arm, so he could cling a little.

"And I guess I should have been a little more insistent that you tell me what was going on in your crazy, crazy head."

"Hey, I—"

Jon sighed. "But I definitely should have made sure you knew that Ryan and Brendon, Spencer, as much as you love them both? They're not your responsibility."

"How can they _not_ be?" Spencer demanded, looking up. "Who else is gonna—"

Jon kissed him on the cheek. "Shut up and listen for a minute, okay, because you're not going to like this. They don't act like it, but those two idiots are grown ups. They have a grown up relationship. But instead of ever talking to each other like grown ups, they both go running to you. And you let them. You handle it. You make sure Brendon never cries at Ryan, and you smooth over all the awful things Ryan says by accident. They're not going to get fixed until they talk to _each other_. Not to you."

What a terrifying thing to say. "They won't do it right," Spencer said. It was so stupid, but it was _true_. "They suck at it."

"Yeah," Jon agreed. "So you have to just let them suck at it. They'll either figure it out and fix each other, or they won't. And that will be awful. But _they_ have to do it."

"No," said Spencer indistinctly, burying his head in Jon's shoulder again.

"Yeah," said Jon. "Sorry."

They sat there on the floor and Spencer thought of all the mean things he'd thought about Jon over the last six months, and how much he wished he'd just said them out loud, so Jon could have yelled at him and dealt with it, and how much better that would have been. "Are you mad at me?" he said finally, because he couldn't handle worrying about anything else.

"I love you," said Jon. "You've been kind of frustrating, but I love you. I guess I was pretty frustrating, too. Just, next time you think I'm being a dick _tell_ me so—"

"Oh, I promise, don't worry."

Jon laughed. "Okay, then," he said. "Hey, you want to get off the floor, maybe? We have a couch right over there."

"Jon. I... I'm not..." Spencer let Jon pull him to his feet. "I don't know how to..."

Jon leaned up and kissed him. "I'll help," Jon promised. "They're gonna be okay."

"And us, too," Spencer persisted. He wrapped his hand around Jon's, and maybe he was still clinging.

"We're always fine," Jon promised, grinning. "I mean, you're fine. I'm _super_ fine."

That startled a laugh out of Spencer. "Shut up," he said, and shoved Jon's shoulder. "Not funny."

Jon just grinned. "Love you," he said.

"Yeah," Spencer agreed. "I love you, too. I'm really... I'm sorry."

"Make it up to me with couch snuggles," Jon ordered. "And awesome teen angst." He dragged Spencer over to the couch and pulled him into his lap.

"Do you think you can fix Ryan and Brendon, too? Please?" Spencer asked plaintively.

Jon grinned. "I'll see if I can work my Jon Walker magic," he agreed, flipping the TV on.

Jon was kidding, Spencer knew. But leaning against Jon, feeling Jon's scratchy beard against his face, and Jon's arms around him, and Jon's legs tangled up with his, Spencer was sure that Jon _was_ magic. Spencer hadn't felt so able to breathe in a long, long time.

\\\\\

"I swear to god," said Brian, "if you're late, I will kill you with my bare hands."

The phone made a hissing noise. "We're not gonna be late!" Spencer said. "Brendon drives like a maniac— _Jesus_ , Brendon, that wasn't a challenge!"

Mikey sighed dramatically. "It's about to start," said Brian. "We're sitting in the back on the left, and if Jon's gonna take pictures—"

"We're seriously pulling into the parking lot now," Spencer promised, and then swore again. "I mean, unless Brendon _kills us all_ with his driving."

The music in the auditorium started up again. Brian sighed. "You have like, twenty seconds before the speeches start," he said. "What are the odds—"

"We're here, we're here, chill," Spencer said, and then his phone cut off.

Mikey was still just staring at Brian. He'd been forced to wear a button-up shirt for the occasion, and he looked about as comfortable in it as a cat might have. "Can we go in, now, please?" Mikey said. "I wouldn't want to miss a precious second."

Brian pointed at the doors. "Go," he said. "Greta's saving seats."

"Yeah," Mikey agreed. "Tell me again why she's here?"

Brian wondered that himself, too, but he said, "Gerard invited her," like he had four times already. "Now stop bothering me."

They were the last people still waiting outside the auditorium in the hallway. Brian just couldn't bring himself to go in. Mikey gave Brian a long, considering look. "Are you... Are you actually choked up about this? It's just a high school graduation, Brian, it's no big deal."

"Gerard's _graduating_ ," said Brian helplessly, trying to make Mikey understand. If he went in there, graduation would start, and then Gerard would _graduate_. But Mikey was Gerard's little brother, and he was still in high school, and he didn't understand at all. "Shut up," said Brian finally. "It's a big deal, okay? I'm old and sentimental and you can just deal with that. Go inside and tell Greta we need more seats for the boys."

Mikey rolled his eyes elaborately to show that grownups were all insane and went in to the auditorium.

Brian was not choked up about Gerard's graduation, honestly. It was just sort of... It was a milestone. Gerard was growing up. In a couple of weeks he was off to some summer program for incoming freshmen, and then he'd _be_ an incoming freshman, and then he'd go away and he'd be _gone_. Brian wasn't sentimental or anything, but that was pretty huge. Gerard had only just _gotten_ there, how could he be leaving?

Brendon came running in, with Spencer and Jon on his heels. They were all dressed nicely, but not _too_ nicely. "Formal flip flops?" Brian asked Jon, raising an eyebrow.

"I _told_ you," snapped Spencer, elbowing Jon in the side.

It took Brian a second, but, "Ryan?" he asked, looking over Brendon's shoulder.

Brendon swallowed hard and stared at the floor. "He couldn't make it," Brendon said, and it was such a transparent lie that Brian's heart broke a little bit.

"Hey," said Brian, hugging Brendon. Brendon looked awful; exhausted and hollow-cheeked and missing all his usual bounce. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," said Brendon, smiling determinedly. "Where's Gerard?"

"Inside, with Greta and Mikey," Brian replied, pointing.

"Oooh, Greta," Brendon teased. He didn't really know, though, so Brian refused to let himself get red.

"Gerard invited her, go say hi before he has to go backstage," Brian ordered, and gave Brendon a little shove.

Brendon and Spencer went in, but Jon stayed in the hallway, futzing with his camera. It looked pretty serious, and he had a couple of different lenses and a giant black bag hanging around his neck. "You thinking of quitting the band to go into wedding photography?" Brian asked.

Jon laughed. "Brendon made me promise seven times not to miss anything," he said. "I figured I needed some zoom lenses."

Brian paused. "Where's Ryan, really?" he asked.

Jon was messing with a cord and a lenscap, but he looked up, and he was as serious as Brian had ever seen him. "He said he wasn't going to come because this was Brendon's thing. He... They're avoiding each other."

"Spencer emailed me that they had a fight."

"A pretty big blowout, yeah." Jon sighed. "It's been kind of shitty, to be honest with you."

And if Jon was upset, it had to be really bad. "How've you been?" Brian asked. "Okay?"

He didn't mean for it to be a "how are you and Spencer?" question, but he could see Jon took it that way. Jon considered the lens in his hand for a long minute. "I guess me and Spence had a fight, too," he said finally. "But since Spencer didn't tell me about it until it was over, I don't have a lot of details."

Brian's stomach sank. "You guys, too?" he said. "That's... I'm sorry."

"Nah," Jon grinned. "We're fine. Spencer does this thing where he loses his shit a little when he gets really mad, so I let him yell for a minute, and then I called him an idiot, and now everything's cool."

"Thank god," said Brian. That was one pair of people in the world who made sense, at least.

Jon laughed and ducked his head a little. "Don't ask how many of the pictures on this card are Spencer, okay? I have a thing about how he smiles."

"But what about Brendon and Ryan?" Brian asked unhappily, because he was pretty sure he didn't want to hear the answer.

"They're gonna be okay," said Jon firmly.

Brian blinked in surprise. "You think so?" he asked.

"Yeah. I didn't, for a long time. But Brendon absolutely lost it with Ryan, which was pretty healthy, I think. He needed to vent." Jon sighed. "And then Ryan needed to say, 'Sorry, I've been a jerk,' and Brendon should have said, 'Hey, me too,' and things would've been okay."

"But they didn't."

"No," Jon agreed. "Instead they got all passive-aggressive and guilty and avoided each other. Which is totally fucked up. But hey, I have a plan to fix them, it's gonna be fine. We just need to get Brendon to calm down, and Ryan to accept that Brendon's a forgiving guy, and it'll all be okay again."

Jon had this determined, breezy optimism that Brian had always sort of assumed meant he didn't think about things very deeply. Clearly that wasn't the case at all. "Brendon looks miserable," said Brian instead.

"Yeah," Jon sighed. "They both do. Idiots."

Brian laughed. "I'm trusting you're right on this one, Jon. Don't let me down."

Jon squinted up at him. "How come you're out here instead of in there?" he asked.

Damn Jon and his perceptiveness anyway. "I... Uh..." said Brian. And then sighed. "Gerard's _graduating._ Anyway, Greta's in there with Mikey. It's fine."

Jon nodded. "Okay," he said. "That's the super hot chick you got to replace Ryan, right? Brendon says Gerard is a little in love with her."

God, Brian hoped that wasn't true. "Yeah, well. Um." Brian fidgeted a little bit. He needed some water.

Jon was biting back a grin. "Holy shit," he said. "You _are_ dating her."

Brian's mouth dropped open. "How did you—?" he stuttered, and then caught himself. "No, I mean... _what_?"

"Gabe called Ryan about it like, a month ago. Said you were sneaking around the office with the hot girl. Said Ryan needed to start picking out corsages for the wedding." Jon burst out laughing. "Your _face_ , man, that's _awesome._ "

"No, we... I... Oh, shit, did Ryan tell Brendon? Did Brendon tell Gerard? Because we haven't even _talked_ about it—" Brian was feeling a little hysterical.

Jon patted him on the shoulder. "I don't think anyone told anyone else, unless it was kind of a joke. You know Gabe's crazy. I won't tell anyone, okay?"

"I mean, I haven't even talked to her about..." Lots of stuff, actually. The fact that Brian had totally flipped out over her ex showing up. That was probably best kept to himself. Jon and Spencer, apparently, were a lot more grownup than Brian was feeling lately. It was just... He was a little terrified of what she'd say if he brought it up. Either way.

Pomp and Circumstance started up in the auditorium. "We should go in," Jon said. "I'm gonna go take pictures. You want me to get some of Bob and Ray too, right?"

"Please," said Brian. "I'm just gonna get a drink, I'll be there in a second."

Jon laughed again. "He's going to graduate no matter how long you lurk out here," he said.

"Shut up," said Brian. Jon finished assembling an impressive-looking camera and headed in.

Brian just needed some water before he could go in and deal with Gerard graduating. He went over to the water fountain, which even at a nice private school was just as gross as Brian remembered from high school. He splashed a little water on his face, too.

Someone ducked around the corner, which was weird, because the entire school and all the parents had already gone inside. Brian stopped. That had looked like an awfully familiar hoodie. But Brian hadn't seen it around in months, so maybe not?

"Uh," said Brian to the apparently-empty hallway. "Frank?"

There was a pause.

Frank stuck his head around the corner. His hair was getting kind of long, even where he'd shaved it off over last summer. "Hey, Brian," Frank said.

"What's up?" Brian asked casually. He missed having Frank around, not just because the kid was hilarious and helped around the house, but because Gerard looked so miserable when he came home by himself every day.

Frank considered for a long minute and then stepped out from behind the wall. "It's graduation," he said.

Brian nodded. "Yeah," he said. "You here to support Bob and Ray and Gerard?"

"I... I'm not... I just wanted to see..." He paused, hands stuffed in his pockets. "We're like... We're not speaking, so I figured it would be weird to like, go in."

Brian said gently, "He'd love you to be there."

Frank scowled. "We're having a _fight_ ," he insisted.

Brian was dying to tell Frank how heartbroken Gerard was without him, how devastated the fight had made him. But he knew Gerard would never forgive him for interfering, and maybe it wasn't the right thing to do anyway. "You should come in," Brian insisted. "Brendon and Spencer and Jon are here, too. And Mikey."

Frank wavered for a second, but he caught himself. "No," Frank said. "I'm gonna go up to the catwalk over the stage and watch from there, instead. I know the kid who's running the lights." He paused. "I'm... Brian. Is he really pissed at me?"

This sucked so hard Brian could have cried. "Not anymore, I don't think," Brian said honestly.

"Oh." Frank considered. "I'm still mad at him. But... He's... He's going _away._ " It was so plaintive Brian almost reached out to hug Frank, but Frank was carefully keeping out of reach. "So. Maybe he'll come home sometime. Anyway, I have to go. Don't tell him you saw me." Frank vanished down the hall.

Brian stared after him bleakly. He could have fucking killed both of them for being so stupid, but they were teenagers, and they were young and emotional, and it was going to play out however it played out.

It took him a second to catch himself and wince. If that was Gerard and Frank's excuse, it could almost be extended to Ryan and Brendon, too. But Brian had no such leeway. He was a fucking adult, and so was Greta. He needed to act more adult than the kids he was supposed to be in charge of. It was way past time to man up and talk to her.

\\\\\

Gerard didn't want a graduation party, so they just drove home. Gerard stared out the window the whole way, while Jeanne and Greta chatted about how nice the ceremony had been. If it had, Gerard hadn't noticed. He was sunk in a fog of total, awful despair.

They got back to the house and Jeanne had made a cake, but Gerard wasn't hungry. "Mikey'll eat it," he said, and went upstairs.

He expected Brian to yell and follow, but he didn't. Instead the knock on the door was a lot more tentative. "You okay?" Brendon called.

Gerard considered for a minute, but it was _Brendon_ , so. He got up and opened the door again. "Yeah?" he said. "I'm not taking any more pictures. I'm done."

"I don't think anyone expects you to," said Brendon. "Can I come in?"

Gerard looked seriously at him. Brendon looked shittier than Gerard could ever remember seeing him, mostly tired, but also like he'd been really sick or something. "Okay," said Gerard, and let Brendon sit up on the bed with him.

Gerard pulled his knees up under his chin and stared at the wall. He had a giant poster of The Cure on his wall, which made for good staring.

"Ryan sent a card," said Brendon finally, handing it over to Gerard.

Gerard couldn't help feeling a little sad. "I wish he'd come," he said.

Brendon winced. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding hoarse. "I tried to tell him you'd want him to be here, even if... Um. Sorry."

"You guys had a fight?" Gerard asked. He knew it, because Brian had warned him, but he couldn't really believe it. Brendon and Ryan had been together forever.

Brendon nodded. "We broke up," he said. "I mean, I think. I mean, we haven't really talked about it since then."

"Oh," said Gerard. It took him a second, because he'd been so lost in his own misery over Frank for so long that he didn't notice other people's very well. But Brendon looked like he might cry, and Gerard hated when he looked like that. "I'm really sorry." He paused. "Me and Frank, too."

"Yeah," said Brendon. "Brian said."

They went back to being quiet again. Gerard liked that they could just sit there together, and Brendon wasn't pressing him for details. He couldn't talk about it, anyway. He didn't have words to explain it. But if Brendon was half as upset as Gerard was, he probably understood anyway.

But Gerard had never been _dating_ Frank, even if he'd wanted to. He'd never been in love with Frank. Brendon's situation was probably worse, although Gerard couldn't imagine anything feeling worse than he felt right now.

He leaned over and put his arm around Brendon. "Can I do anything?" Gerard asked.

Brendon shook his head. "Nobody can do anything," he said. "Thanks, though."

"Are you guys still gonna be a band?" Gerard asked hesitantly.

"What? Of _course_ ," Brendon said. "That's not even the question. The music is all his anyway."

"Oh, good. Because you guys are pretty awesome."

Brendon sighed. "It sucks," he said flatly. "Being on tour with him all the time, and him being mad at me all the time, and me being mad at me, too. But I love the band, I can't help it."

"Why's Ryan mad at you?" Gerard asked. Brendon had his first loyalty, as awesome as Gerard thought Ryan was.

"I yelled at him," Brendon said. "I... No. Fuck that, he deserved it. But now he isn't talking to me. Or maybe I'm not talking to him. We both suck, I guess."

That was eerily, horribly familiar. "Frank and me, too," said Gerard. He paused. He hadn't told anyone about it, but this was Brendon. Brendon would maybe get it, since his life sucked, too. "Frank has a _girlfriend_ ," Gerard said.

Brendon gasped. "You're _lying_ ," he said.

Gerard shook his head. He felt weirdly vindicated. "He kissed me, and I... I didn't know what to do. So I avoided him. And then he started dating this horrible, stupid, awful girl named _Emily_ , and we had a big fight."

"Wait, wait, hold up," Brendon said, eyes lighting up. "He _kissed_ you? And you didn't _call me_?" Brendon slapped Gerard on the arm. "What the fuck?"

"He was just _kidding_ ," Gerard moaned. "He was playing around. He said so. I mean, what was I supposed to do?"

"Tell him you love him!" Brendon said, perking up for the first time all day. "Swoon! Throw yourself at him! Jesus, Gerard, it's _Frank_!"

"Yeah," Gerard agreed miserably. "What if I said that and I screwed it all up?"

"But isn't it all screwed up anyway?" Brendon asked.

Gerard was going to cry. "Yeah," he hiccupped. "It is."

"Awwww, Gee," said Brendon, hugging him. "It'll be okay."

"No it _won't_ , it's _ruined_ ," Gerard said. "I hate _everything._ "

He waited for Brendon to reassure him, like Brendon always did. But Brendon just sat there, with his arm around Gerard. "Yeah," Brendon sighed finally. "Sometimes it feels that way."

"But... You're supposed to tell me it gets better," Gerard said expectantly.

Brendon just shrugged.

"What is _up_ with you?" Gerard demanded, sitting up. "You're never... Are you _okay_?" It was obviously so much worse than he'd even suspected. "Come on. You're supposed to say everything will turn out okay no matter what!"

Brendon looked like he might cry. "I'm sorry," he said. "I mean... It will. I'm sure you'll be okay, Gee."

"No, _you_ will," Gerard insisted. Brendon clearly had no idea how fucked the Frank Situation actually was, but the Brendon and Ryan Situation wasn't. "You said you haven't talked to him yet. Go talk to him! Brendon!"

"We're on a break from the tour," said Brendon, looking at the bed. "I don't even know where he is, he hasn't been back to the apartment."

Gerard was honestly shocked. "Ask Spencer!"

"But Ryan's... He's _mad_ at me." Brendon squirmed a little. "I'm kind of hoping he'll be less mad by the time we go out on tour again."

Gerard was suddenly, blindingly sure that Ryan was off somewhere having the same kind of conversation with whomever Ryan talked to when he was upset. "Tell Ryan you don't want to be broken up," Gerard ordered. "Tell him to be nicer, and then like, kiss him."

Brendon laughed shakily. "I don't think that'd fix it," he said.

"Of course it will!" Gerard had incredibly limited experience with this stuff, but he knew Ryan and Brendon. "You're moping around like you're _me_ or something. I'll handle the depression, you go be happy, okay?"

"Why don't _you_ go talk to Frank, huh?" Brendon asked.

Gerard scowled. "That's different," he said.

Brendon laughed. Gerard hated being laughed at, but it was nice to see Brendon smiling after all the sighing and sadness. "It is?" Brendon asked.

"Definitely," said Gerard.

Brendon sighed, but it was a little less despairing this time. "We're both a mess," he said.

Gerard nodded. He'd been the tiniest bit worried that now that he'd graduated Brendon would think he was too old to just sit around with. But obviously Brendon got that graduation was no big deal. "Hey," said Gerard. "When do I get to see you guys play again?"

"We're out on the west coast for a couple of months," said Brendon. "But we'll be back in the fall."

"But I go _away_ in the fall," said Gerard, feeling mildly panicked. "I want to see you guys! Maybe I won't go away to school after all."

"Don't be stupid," said Brendon. "You'll see us in New York, and all your college friends will think you're so cool because you know the band. And we're playing here on Thanksgiving. You'll be home for break. It's the last show of the tour." He looked bleak for a second. "I mean. Unless Ryan quits before then or something."

"He won't," said Gerard certainly. "He wouldn't leave you." He could tell he'd said something wrong by the look on Brendon's face, so he floundered for another topic. "Uh. Don't you want cake? You always want cake."

"I think I'd rather just sit up here with you," said Brendon.

Okay, Gerard could sympathize with that. "How about I tell you how I'm freaking out about the freshman orientation weekend, and you tell me it'll all be okay," said Gerard hopefully.

Brendon brightened up again. "Okay," he said. "Oh, it's gonna be awesome! You'll be in the city by yourself, with no grownups around to tell you where you can and can't go, and you'll meet lots of crazy new college people and make friends and it'll be great. College is awesome."

"You didn't like it much freshman year," Gerard pointed out.

Brendon waved his hands around crazily. "This is different!" he said. "I was totally weird. You'll be fine! You'd better call me like, every day."

"It's just a weekend thing," said Gerard.

Brendon pinched him. " _Call me_ ," he ordered. "Promise?"

Gerard couldn't imagine what would possibly be interesting enough to warrant a call home, but he nodded. "Okay," he said. "I promise."  


////

It was a nice restaurant, with candles and dark curtains and music playing in the background that Brian secretly hated a little bit. Greta either looked happy or suspicious, it was hard to tell in the dim light.

"Dinner, huh," she said, sitting down. "This is pretty different from takeout on your couch."

Brian winced. "Yeah," he said. "I was thinking maybe we'd try something a little more adult."

Greta's eyebrows _flew_ up her forehead. " _Were_ you?" she asked, smirking.

Shit, shit, shit. Brian's face got red, but maybe she couldn't tell in the dimness. "Uh, I meant for dinner," he said quickly.

She giggled. "Ohhh," she cooed, "I was hoping you meant _after_ dinner." She leered a little bit, and, shit, he was honest-to-god blushing.

"Stop that," Brian ordered. "I just meant that ordering food and hanging out on the couch while my kids watch Dirty Jobs isn't a real date. Especially since..." He took a deep breath. "Especially since we haven't told them we're dating."

Greta nodded. "True," she said.

"Which. Uh." His palms were all sweaty and gross and he rubbed them against his jeans and tried to remember what he'd planned to say. "Okay. So here's the thing. I'd like to. Tell them, I mean. Tell Gabe and Alex and Gerard and Mikey and everyone. But that would mean... That would mean, for me, okay, being serious about this whole thing. I'm trying not to yank them around with women coming in and out—uh, not that there have been many or anything—but they're not great with change."

She was just looking at him, with her face tilted a little bit to the side, and the flickering candlelight made her _so_ gorgeous. Brian's mouth was dry. He took a sip of water and forced himself to keep going.

"But you, um. I don't know if that's what you want. Because you're way younger than I am, and you have... Well. Bob, I guess, and I'm not trying to presume on whatever that was, we haven't even... We haven't declared our undying love or anything, and I know you and he had... Were serious. I just. I'm trying... I'm trying to set an example for the kids, you know, by _talking_ about this instead of hiding from it, and I... Okay, say something, I'm dying here."

Greta looked down at her hands. "You were avoiding me all week because of Bob?" she said.

Brian wouldn't have said 'avoiding,' exactly. More like hiding out in his office and trying not to talk to her. "Yeah, I guess."

She sighed. "Brian. Bob's... I loved him a lot. Maybe I will always love him a little bit, because I've known him for so long. He's just having a rough time right now, and he thinks I'm the solution to all his problems. He's delusional. Feel better?"

Brian did. He really, seriously did. "I mean," he stuttered, "If you want to have dinner with him, that's cool—"

"Look around. I'm having dinner with _you_."

She smiled, and he smiled back. He slid his hand across the table and put it on hers, and she beamed a little. "You're so logical," Brian said.

"I am," Greta agreed. "And I think we should tell Mikey and Gerard. I'm pretty sure Gabe knows, anyway."

Brian let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Okay," he said. "That's... Okay. Good."

"And then," Greta went on, "we need to talk about your definition of 'adult activities,' honest to god, Brian—" He scowled and she burst into laughter. "Because as lovely as dinner is, I can think of some other things we could get up to if we're not busy sneaking around. I mean... Would it..." She hesitated for just a second and bit her lip. "Are they old enough to spend the night by themselves? Or... Um. For me to come over?"

Brian's mouth might have dropped open a little. "I'm sure we can work out something," he said, in a strangled voice.

Greta was charmingly red. "I was just wondering," she said hurriedly. "Please don't think I'm... I mean, I'm not..."

Brian said gravely, "It's too late. Your secret is out." She looked up at him, alarmed. "You are clearly a wicked woman."

Greta giggled "Jackass!" and smacked his hand.

Brian grinned goofily back at her. "It's one of my favorite things about you," he assured her.

"You're so lame," she said.

"Yeah," Brian agreed. He was pretty sure—like, easily, sixty percent—that Mikey and Gerard would be down with it. He was still grinning like an idiot, and she was smiling back, and Christ, it felt _awesome_.

\\\\\

"Where's my jacket?" Gerard demanded. "I can't find my jacket. Brian, I'm _not going_ if I don't have a jacket!"

Brian was knee-deep in black hoodies and t-shirts and jeans. "Well how the fuck am I supposed to know where it is?" he demanded. "If you put stuff away now and then—"

"Oh, like you're one to talk," Gerard grumbled.

"You probably don't need a jacket anyway," said Mikey, from where he was lounging on the bed. "I mean, it's _July_. It won't be cold."

Mikey had completely missed the point, which was that Gerard was unprepared for a weekend away with total strangers and he was going to _freak out_ unless he could find the black jacket with the silver skull zipper. "I _do_ need it, Mikey, what if there's a freak storm?" Gerard snapped.

Brian sighed. He threw a hoodie at Gerard. "Can't you just layer your hoodies? Do you really need nine different outfits? You're going away for three days."

"But _what if_ —" Gerard started.

Greta knocked on the door. "Hey, guys," she said. "The door was unlocked. You okay up here?" She had started popping over all the time, it was getting pretty normal to have her just show up.

"I can't find my jacket, I'm _not going_ to New York, I _refuse_ ," Gerard wailed.

Greta looked at Brian, and Brian rolled his eyes. "It's a crisis," he said.

"You can always buy another one in New York," Greta pointed out. "They have way better shopping there, anyway. Oooh, maybe I'll come with you. I haven't been shopping in forever. There's this great vintage store near Union Square I love."

Gerard refused to be comforted. He crossed his arms and glared at her. He actually almost wished she _could_ come with him—what the fuck was he going to do somewhere with _total strangers_ for _three whole days_? It would be better with Greta around, because she was nice and she could probably talk to strangers and make them like her. Gerard failed at that.

She sighed and sat down on the floor next to him. "Or," she said, "We could go through all these piles again until we find it. I'm willing to help. I'm a good organizer."

Gerard sniffled. "Yeah?" he said.

"You don't leave until tomorrow morning, anyway," she added.

"Three whole days to myself," said Mikey. Gerard glared at him. Mikey shrugged. "It's not like I'm not going to text you every thirty seconds the whole time you're gone," Mikey pointed out. "Just, this way I get to pick what we watch on TV."

A little mollified, Gerard said, "It's not really three days. I mean, I go out tomorrow, so it's only half that day, and then I'm there for one day, and then we leave at like, noon. So really it's one day and two half days. Barely even two full days."

"We'll wear black and mourn the whole time," Brian said, and Gerard threw the hoodie back at him.

Greta leaned over and whispered, "Is he texting Pete?" Gerard shook his head. Pete and Mikey still weren't talking, although this kid named Patrick spent a lot of time running back and forth between them delivering messages. Apparently Pete was willing to forgive Mikey, but it was contingent on all kinds of other stuff happening first, and Mikey wasn't a great apologizer.

Brian was making totally stupid faces, trying to catch Greta's eye. Gerard elbowed her. "I think he wants you," he said. Brian's face got kind of red. Brian was such a dork.

"Oh," said Greta. "Yeah. There was something we wanted to tell you guys."

She looked at Brian, and Brian looked at the floor, and Mikey sighed really loudly, because Mikey had no patience. Gerard decided to help out. "Yeah?" he prompted.

"Uh," said Brian. Dork, Gerard thought again. "So, Greta and I. We're kind of. Dating."

For just a second Gerard was shocked, and then he realized how much time she'd been spending hanging out at their house in the last month, and how much she didn't annoy him, and how Brian had basically stopped freaking out over stuff like dinner and TV and Gerard's grades because Greta was around to distract him, so he nodded. Mikey didn't look surprised at all.

"Duh," said Mikey.

"Yeah," Gerard echoed, "Duh." Mikey gave him an _I know you're lying_ look, and Gerard pointedly ignored him.

"You're cool with it?" Greta asked.

Mikey put his phone down for a second. "You're not gonna, like. Make out and stuff, are you?"

"Says the boy who got busted macking on Alicia during lunch," Gerard pointed out.

"Shut up, that's different."

" _You're_ different."

"Your _face_ is different." Gerard and Mikey glared at each other for a second.

Greta promised solemnly, "We'll try to keep the making out to a minimum."

"We will?" Brian interrupted.

"Brian's kind of a dork," Gerard warned Greta. Brian made a spluttering noise and threw dirty socks at him.

Greta looked like she was considering that really seriously, which made Gerard giggle. "I guess I'll see if I can live with that," she said finally.

"You love it," said Mikey. "You're all about dorks."

Greta gave Brian a big, goofy smile, and he smiled back, and it was... Could grown ups be _cute_? If they could, it was. "Yeah," said Greta. "I am. That's why I agreed to go out with King Dork over there in the first place."

Brian threw a sock at her. She laughed and threw it right back.

Gerard liked Greta and everything, but any time things got _different_ he was suspicious. "For the record," he said. "You're not gonna make us call you 'mom' or anything fucked up like that, right?"

Greta looked honestly astonished. "Why would I do that?" she asked.

It didn't happen so much anymore, but every now and then Gerard still felt intensely guilty about not missing his parents _more_. It was just a dull ache now, and Brian had filled in most of the holes that had been there. His throat hurt, though, at the thought of using that word with anyone else. "Okay, then," Gerard said. He wasn't sure he totally approved of adding anyone to the family, but if they had to, Greta was pretty okay. He wouldn't have thought Brian could get someone so okay, frankly. "Has anyone seen my black converse?"

Mikey sighed. "You should branch out," he said. "I hear pink's nice."

"Maybe you really shouldn't go," said Brian worriedly. "We can't find anything—"

Greta gave him a little shove. "Stop it," she said. "He's going to be fine. It's only three days."

"Yeah," said Brian, sounding unhappy.

"Yeah," Gerard echoed, and decided to wait to complain about how thought he was going to barf until after Greta left.

\\\\\

"I'm Stacey," said the girl with glasses and a clipboard.

Gerard didn't like her. He clutched his dufflebag with both hands and wished for the thousandth time he'd taken Brian up on his, "You don't have to go" offer. He could have been home. He could stay home forever. He could set up a fort in Brian's basement and never, ever leave it again. Mikey would bring snacks down and he'd get a TV and he'd spend the rest of his life hanging out down there, and it would be perfect.

Instead he was standing here, in the middle of a giant, terrifying city, with no one he knew and an overwhelming sense of dread that they would all figure out he was a total poser. He shouldn't have been accepted, he wasn't a good enough artist, he just liked to draw _cartoons_. That wasn't very cool, he was going to get laughed out of the school.

"Do you have a name?" Stacey asked, pencil poised.

Gerard shook his head. He had a name, but it was none of her business. He didn't even _know_ her. He just wanted to get back on the train—he was sure he could figure out which one, no problem—and then he'd hide out at Ray's house until Monday. Brian would never have to know.

"Seriously, kid, you must have a name." Stacey sighed dramatically. Her hair was all beached and spiked and she had a lip ring, and it should have made him feel better, but it didn't.

"Gerard," Gerard said finally. "Way." Maybe his name wouldn't be on her list and he wasn't really accepted. Oh, god, what if the acceptance letter was wrong? What if it was a mistake?

She ticked off something on the clipboard. "You're staying in DeWitt," she said. "Right there. Follow Nathan, he knows where to go. Nathan! This one's going to DeWitt. We'll see you in an hour in the auditorium, okay?"

No no no no. He was going to go home. Somehow Gerard's legs moved and he headed over to where the guy in hilariously tight black jeans was waving to him. "Hey," said the guy, whose name was hopefully Nathan. "What's up?"

Gerard shook his head again and clutched his duffel a little tighter. He hated this, he hated _everything_ about this. Graduating had been the worst idea he'd ever had.

Someone crashed into him from behind. Gerard swore and flailed and dropped his bag. "Yo, sorry dude," said the crasher, and grabbed Gerard's duffel off the grass. He was blonde and he had a big douchey grin, and Gerard would normally have disliked him just out of habit, because he kind of looked like someone who'd be a jerk, but he grinned. "My bad, dude. I'm Cash."

"Cash," said Gerard blankly. "Seriously?"

Cash laughed. "Cash money," he said. "Well, not really, but my name really is Cash. It's on my birth certificate."

"Huh," said Gerard.

Cash shoved him with his elbow. Gerard staggered a little. "Now you say _your_ name," Cash prompted.

"Oh," said Gerard. "Right. I'm Gerard."

"Sweet," said Cash. He held out his hand like a fist, and Gerard stared at it for a second. "Yo, bump," said Cash.

Gerard was like, ninety percent sure Cash was making fun of him, but he held out his fist and tapped Cash's anyway. Cash didn't pull his fist away or whale on Gerard or anything.

"Are you two done?" Nathan demanded impatiently. "We have to go drop your shit off."

Cash threw Gerard's bag back to him, and shouldered his own. "Lead on, _Nathan._ " He rolled his eyes at Gerard, who was astonished to realize Cash was acting like... Well. Like it was him and Gerard making fun of Nathan, and not the way the world _usually_ worked; everyone making fun of Gerard.

He followed Nathan inside and upstairs. Nathan said something about what people lived in which dorms and Gerard totally failed to listen because he was trying to figure out Cash's deal. In Gerard's experience, normal people didn't like to talk to him. Therefore Cash wasn't normal. But he didn't _look_ overtly weird, so it was probably a secret kind of un-normal. Maybe he was a serial killer. Gerard thought that might be kind of cool.

Nathan showed them an empty room with a couple of uncomfortable beds. "You two can crash together, I guess," he said. "Whatever, you probably won't sleep much this weekend anyway. Dump your stuff."

Cash had a backpack, which he threw on one bed, so Gerard threw his duffle on the other. Then he put down his bag, and—of course—his fucking notebook fell out. "What's that?" Cash asked immediately, grabbing for it.

"No, I—" Gerard started, heart pounding wildly.

Cash flipped it open. "Holy shit," he said. "You drew this? What is this?"

"That's my comic," said Gerard uncomfortably, reaching for it. "That's me. And my brother."

"Yeah?" Cash asked, sitting down. "Which one's he?"

Gerard stared at him, but he didn't _sound_ like he was making fun. "I'm... That's me," he said, pointing. "And my super power is that I can persuade anyone to believe anything I want. That's Mikey, he can become invisible. That's our friend Bob, he's got super strength. And that's Ray, his power is that his hair can come to life, right, and it'll fucking _kill_ you _dead_. Like, it can strangle you, it's totally prehensile."

Cash laughed. "Fucking awesome. You have to draw me in here. Dude, that totally _looks_ like you, how awesome is that? Wait, who's that one?"

Gerard's heart caught in his throat. "That's.... Uh. That's Frank. He's a... He used to be a friend of mine."

"Is his super power being really fucking short?" Cash asked.

Frank's super power was breaking Gerard's heart from a whole state away. "No," said Gerard. "Hey, give it back, Nathan's waiting."

Cash ignored him. "So do you like, fight villains and shit?" he asked, turning the page. "Yo, that's _nasty_ , look at that! Is that blood?"

"Uh, yeah," said Gerard. What the fuck. If Cash wasn't going to give it back, he was going to hear all about it. "So in that episode, right. Our nemesis—he's this guy named Lou, he's a creep—he poisoned a blood transfusion that Garry—that's me—got. So I'm dying, and no one knows what to do. So it turns out that we're gonna need to drain all of my blood and replace it with Mikey's, because he's my brother, so our DNA is really similar and my body won't reject it. So that's where... They're like, draining all my blood, and I'm dying, see?"

"Yo, that's hot," said Cash. "But you don't die?"

"Well," said Gerard, warming to his subject. "I _should_ die, right, because I lose all my blood. But I _don't_ , and that's when they realize I'm secretly already _undead_."

"Whoa," said Cash, eyes big. "Cool."

It was cool, it was the coolest plot twist ever, pretty much. Gerard was justifiably proud. He was even prouder of the way Cash was acting like it was actually a cool thing, and not something a freaky kid he didn't know had done. It was possible—just barely possible—that if a lot of people at college were like Cash, he might survive after all.

\\\\\

Spencer leaned back against Jon and tried to enjoy himself, which was hard, with Brendon looking so miserable on the other side of the couch. It was Spencer's favorite episode of Planet Earth and everything, but he kept getting distracted from the polar bear cubs by Brendon's hangdog expression. It was supposed to be their night to hang out all together before the tour started again, but Ryan had been locked in his room most of the time.

He sighed and started to sit up and say something— _Have you talked to him?_ or _The tour is going to be okay, you guys seemed pretty normal_ or anything, but when he moved Jon's hand abruptly tightened around his arm.

Right. Spencer was supposed to be minding his own business. Which totally, totally sucked.

"Look how cute," said Jon to no one in particular.

"Awww," Brendon agreed obligingly. Then he went back to tugging at his shoelaces and staring at the couch.

Spencer gritted his teeth and looked at Jon. Jon swallowed a pretty obvious laugh and kissed him on the cheek.

Brendon's phone rang, and everyone jumped a little. "Sorry," said Brendon, and then, "Who would call me at one in the morning?" He flipped it open. "Hello? Oh, hey, Gerard! What's up?"

"Jon," Spencer whispered. "I can't do this."

"Be strong," Jon whispered back. He was laughing, the bastard.

Damn him anyway. "Brendon's dying of misery," Spencer said. "I could just go yell at Ryan and—"

"And what?" Jon asked. "If Brendon's that miserable, Brendon needs to talk to Ryan. C'mon, Spence, we talked about this."

"I can hear you whispering about me," Brendon complained loudly, putting the phone down. "You guys, no fair telling secrets."

Spencer opened his mouth to tell Brendon to suck it, but Jon said quickly, "Tell Gee we said hi," and pinched Spencer's arm. Spencer lapsed back into sulky silence.

"Well, it sounds okay so far," said Brendon. "What kind of a name is Cash? Of course he does; it's awesome! ... No, I think that's normal. ...Dude, if you don't want to drink, then don't, just because everyone else is... The city's pretty cool, huh? I told you. Okay, well, call me when you get home, I want to hear all about it. Yes, I swear I do. Okay. Okay, bye."

"Sounds like Gerard's having fun at that orientation thing," said Jon. He tapped his finger against Spencer's cheek thoughtfully, and Spencer turned his head and bit him.

"So far so good. He met some kid named Cash and they're bonding, I guess. Which is awesome, because I was a little worried he'd freak out and hop a bus home." Brendon sighed and tipped his head back against the couch.

Ryan walked out his room and stopped, looking at them. Spencer started to sit up, and made himself slouch back down against Jon. Not interfering was a lot harder than he'd expected. Ryan stood uncertainly in the doorway, watching them.

 _Well come on, sit down_ , Spencer didn't say. The longer the silence stretched the more badly he wanted to, so he turned his face against Jon's neck and closed his eyes.

"Sit down," said Brendon finally, because Brendon hated silence as much as Spencer did.

"I... It's okay," said Ryan.

"No, god, it's fine, look, lots of space, you don't even have to sit by me," Brendon said, scooting over and pulling Jon and Spencer with him.

Ryan bit his lip. "I uh. Don't want to interrupt."

"We've only seen this episode seven times," Jon agreed seriously. "You might ruin it for us."

Ryan looked like he was going to object again, so Spencer glared at him. Ryan sighed and sat down gingerly on the couch. David Attenborough's voice told them more about how difficult life was in the frozen north.

 _Oh my god, just talk to each other_ , Spencer wanted to order. He wanted to pull Jon out of the room with him and leave those two alone to talk, but they wouldn't, and Jon was pretending to ignore him. Spencer fidgeted a little bit.

"I'm gonna get a soda. Does anyone want?" Brendon offered, bouncing up. He was even worse at tense silence than Spencer, thank god.

"Sure," said Jon. Spencer shook his head.

Brendon looked pointedly at Ryan. "Uh," said Ryan. "If you don't mind."

"It's a _soda_ ," Brendon pointed out, and headed into the kitchen.

Spencer made himself take a deep breath. That was the most conversation Ryan and Brendon had had in weeks, even if it was about nothing. It had been civil. No one was yelling. No one had slunk out of the room. He clung to the idea that maybe it was a baby step toward something better.

"Spencer," said Ryan. "I guess... If you won't talk to Brendon for me, I will."

"I won't," said Spencer firmly. Jon had a hand on his leg, and he squeezed supportively. Now if Ryan told Brendon his stupid idea and everything was ruined, it would be totally Ryan's fault. Spencer tried to make himself believe it wouldn't be his, for letting it happen.

Ryan sank a little lower in the couch. His chin was on his chest.

Brendon bounced tiredly back in with the sodas. "Did I miss the part with the baby penguins? You have to replay it."

"You didn't miss anything yet," said Jon calmly. Spencer was amazed again that he'd been hearing bored indifference from Jon all these months, not peace keeping with an undertone of scheming. Spencer hooked his ankle around Jon's. They had abruptly gotten a lot touchier, now that Spencer wasn't being insanely hostile and Jon knew what was going on in his head.

Ryan looked up. "Um," he said. "I've been thinking."

"Dangerous," Spencer teased, like it was a normal conversation. His hand tightened on Jon's arm a little again.

"Um," said Ryan. He turned his hands over and over in his lap. "Just that. If it's... If the band is having problems, it's my fault, and I'd... I could. I don't want it to ruin everything."

Spencer's heart plunged down around his knees somewhere. Ryan was such an idiot. He started to say so and caught himself.

Brendon said, "What?" sounding bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

"I could... You could find someone else," Ryan told the floor. "Another guitar player. I'd stay home... I mean, if you wanted."

"No!" Brendon burst out. "Are you—How ridiculous are you? It's your band! They're your songs!"

"But the whole band is... I mean you're so much of it..." Ryan said. "I don't want to..."

"I won't tour if you don't," said Brendon, in his we're-not-having-this-conversation tone. He crossed his arms, then immediately uncrossed them to hit Spencer. "Tell him!"

Thank god. "Duh," said Spencer.

"I can't believe you even said that," Brendon complained. "Honestly."

Ryan looked the tiniest bit relieved. He hid it pretty well, though—Spencer caught the way his lips twitched and he stopped wringing his hands. "I wanted to offer," Ryan said. "In case. You guys wouldn't _ask_ me to, so."

"Well of course we wouldn't," Brendon snapped. "I'm not that mad at you. I would never be _that_ mad at you."

Ryan smiled.

It lasted about a millionth of a second, but it felt like—like a truck had been parked on Spencer's chest, and suddenly it was gone. His hand on Jon's arm squeezed again, and Jon's hand, on Spencer's leg, squeezed back. Jon was certifiably a genius.

\\\\\

"I think you should draw me," said Cash, rolling over.

They were lying on the floor of the room they had for the weekend, because they actually had a free hour where no one wanted to give them a tour or hand them tiny muffins or introduce them to student life. Gerard was feeling wildly overwhelmed by all the people and places and stuff he'd seen. He was thinking about skipping dinner to just stay in his room and have a little while that was quiet.

Cash hadn't quite caught on to that plan, though, and he was lying around next to Gerard, staring at the ceiling.

"What should we be doing?" Gerard asked uncomfortably. He didn't just add people to the story. Only the most important people got to be drawn in.

"I don't know. I could be a super villain or something I guess. I could like, zap you with my rays." Cash wiggled his fingers at him.

"But what kind of powers would you have?" Gerard objected. "You can't just have zapping powers. You need a backstory."

Cash shrugged. "I got bit by a radioactive spider," he said.

Gerard rolled his eyes. "That's Spiderman. You can't be Spiderman, Cash. That's not how it works. You need your _own_ backstory."

"Whatever. I'm bored."

Gerard felt intensely guilty, like he'd kept Cash away from all the other, more fun students. But he'd offered repeatedly that Cash didn't have to stay if he didn't want to. "You could go," Gerard offered. "I'm sure what's his name—Alex—has more beer and stuff." Gerard was so torn about college—on the one hand it was supposed to be full of drinking and parties and going crazy. On the other hand, he and Mikey had promised each other that they were never going to get drunk. Not after what it had cost them.

"I bet he does," said Cash. "Maybe later. Hey. Gerard, hey."

"Yeah?"

Gerard turned his head and Cash was _right there_ , totally in Gerard's personal space. He smelled a little bit like old beer and unwashed teenager, which Gerard was used to, but usually it was someone he knew, not someone who was... Whatever Cash was. Gerard couldn't figure it out. Was Cash crazy or not? What did he _want_? Why did he keep talking to Gerard? There were lots of cooler people around, and they all seemed to like Cash.

"I'm bored," Cash repeated.

"I'm just gonna stay here," said Gerard uncertainly. "I need a little time away from everyone, I guess. I know it's lame, but—"

"It's not lame," said Cash. "I get it. You know what we could do, though?"

"Uh," said Gerard. He almost never knew what anyone else was doing—he was usually pretty focused on what he was doing. "You don't have to stay."

"I kinda want to make out," said Cash lazily. His face was like, _inches_ from Gerard's. "What do you think?"

Gerard thought absolutely nothing; his brain went blank. Was _this_ what college was like? Holy _shit._ He just stared at Cash, mouth open, thoughts spinning around and not catching anywhere.

"Not as like, a thing," Cash went on casually. "Because like, I'm bored. And you're funny, and cool and stuff."

In his entire life, Gerard had kissed two people. One had been totally against his will, years ago, and the other one had been Frank, as a joke. It was not an awesome track record, and Gerard was pretty sure he had to be the worst kisser in the whole world. So on the one hand, it was probably a good idea to get some more practice. That way if there was ever anyone he actually _wanted_ to kiss, he'd be okay at it. His brain flashed to Frank's face and he made it stop.

On the other hand, _what_? People didn't just go around _offering_ like that. Gerard's mind was blown.

"Unless you're not into it," said Cash, rolling onto his back. "Which is cool, too."

"I," Gerard squeaked. "Are you serious?"

Cash shrugged. "Yeah," he said. "Why not? I'm cute. You're cute. I'm _bored_."

Gerard's heart was thumping wildly, going absolutely crazy in his chest. "I, uh..." he said. Cash was pretty good looking, in a frat-boy kind of way, and he didn't _seem_ like he was going to laugh in Gerard's face, and Gerard was away in the city for the weekend and he was an independent adult now, and he could never tell Brian about it but Brendon would yell so loudly he'd break the phone. "I guess," said Gerard, trying hard for indifferent and missing pretty badly.

"Sweet," said Cash, propping himself up on his elbows. "Awesome."

And then he was just _kissing Gerard._ His mouth was on Gerard's, and he wasn't hesitant and friendly like Frank had been, he was sort of... Like a big sloppy puppy, slobbering all over Gerard's face and getting him sort of... wet. Gerard tried to brace himself for the onslaught, but he hadn't really honestly expected Cash to be serious, so he was unprepared to be licked.

"Yeah," said Cash indistinctly, and bit Gerard's ear. Gerard flailed a little. He didn't know what to _do_ , was he supposed to be moaning and licking Cash back? Was he supposed to bite Cash? Was biting a thing people did? He didn't want to ask, that would be like handing Cash a kissing resume with "NO EXPERIENCE" stamped across it. But he didn't want to do it wrong, either.

Cash rolled so he was on top of Gerard, and Gerard wasn't totally sure he liked that. It was weird, having someone on top of him. Cash started kissing him again, slobbering everywhere. Gerard tried kissing back uncertainly, and he must have opened his mouth a little bit, because suddenly Cash was _in his mouth with his tongue,_ what the _fuck_ was that about? It was totally grosser than he'd expected, and more than a little bizarre, and it tasted weird, and Gerard didn't know what to do so he opened his mouth and tried licking back hesitantly.

Cash made a noise, and it sounded happy, so Gerard assumed he was doing it right. He was trying to relax, but he couldn't stop thinking, wondering if what he was doing was right, if Cash was going to stop and laugh at him, if he should be doing something fancy like in those girly magazines. His lips were starting to feel a little chapped, too, and his jaw was beginning to ache from keeping his mouth open.

Gerard turned his face away and Cash didn't seem to object; he started licking Gerard's neck instead. Gerard burst into giggles. That _tickled_.

"Dude, what?" Cash asked, propping himself up.

"It tickles," Gerard said breathlessly. "You can't—Dude."

"Ticklish, huh?" said Cash, waggling his eyebrows. Gerard laughed again. "You know what my buddy says? He says ticklish people haven't gotten off enough."

It took Gerard a minute to process that, and by the time he had Cash was kissing him again, and he was _rubbing_ against Gerard. All the friction where their jeans touched was insane—Gerard had never actually had anyone else involved in the process before, and he didn't know what to do. Cash could totally tell that Gerard was getting hard, and so was Cash, and oh god, it was embarrassing and totally awesome, and fuck—Fuck—Gerard's hands flailed around a little and his vision whited out, and he had totally just come in his jeans.

He wanted to die, it was so embarrassing, you weren't supposed to do that ever, it was a total failure according to Bob and Ray, who claimed to know. There was supposed to be finesse. It was supposed to take longer than a minute. He was just trying to breathe and then Cash made a hilarious porny moaning noise and flopped heavily on top of him.

"Duuuuude," Cash sighed.

Gerard winced, because Cash had clearly done this before; now Cash knew Gerard was a total virgin. Obviously. "Yeah," said Gerard cautiously.

Cash propped himself up on his knees. "I'm gonna shower," he said. He grinned at Gerard and got a little shakily to his feet, grabbed a towel, and vanished out of the room.

 _What_ had just happened? Seriously. Had Gerard just... had they... _Holy shit_. And Cash hadn't complained or laughed at him or anything, which was... Was that _normal?_ How was Gerard supposed to know?

His jeans were so gross and tight and sticky now, he wasn't sure he could even walk down the hall to the shower. Gerard hated using other people's showers more than anything, but if he had to stay in these jeans and they dried like this he was going to need surgery to get out of them, so. Lesser of two evils. Greta had forced him to pack a towel. She was pretty on the ball sometimes.

Gerard freaked out all the way to the shower and back. What if Cash thought he was _weird_ now? Was Cash going to go up to all their new classmates and point to Gerard and call him gay? Gerard was not willing to start college if he was going to spend four years getting called the weird gay virgin. That was not something he could deal with. He really would live in the basement rather than let that happen.

Or... Were they _boyfriends_ now? Were they dating? Gerard was pretty sure you were only supposed to make out with—slash—get off with your boyfriend. Gerard liked Cash okay, but he didn't want to date him. He barely knew him. What if Cash didn't think _Chasing Amy_ was a brilliant film? What if he didn't think gummy worms were gross? What if he didn't know who Joan of Arc was? Gerard wasn't sure he could spend his whole life with someone like that.

"Yo," said Cash. His hair was all wet, and he looked kind of cute. Not cute like Frank, though, whispered a voice in Gerard's head.

"Uh," said Gerard. "So. Um."

"I'm hungry," said Cash, flopping back on the bed. "You want to go down to the cafeteria and get something?"

Gerard stared at him really hard. Was Cash suffering from short-term amnesia or something? "Do you do that all the time?" Gerard demanded. It wasn't actually what he'd meant to ask, but what the hell.

"Nah," said Cash. "Just sometimes. When I'm bored. Girls are okay, too, I'm not picky. I hear a lot of people at art school are like that."

"Oh," said Gerard, who wasn't sure he hadn't just been insulted.

"When we get back here in August, we should hang out," said Cash. "You're cool."

No one had ever, ever called Gerard cool before. "I guess," said Gerard. "We could." He hesitated, because he didn't want to ruin Cash's apparently blasé reaction to whatever that had been. "Uh," he said. "So you're not like. Uh. Looking for a boyfriend."

Cash laughed. "Dude," he said. "College is about hooking up, you know."

Gerard was getting that idea. "Oh," he said, testing it out to see if he felt better or worse. He felt... Confused. Cash was clearly pretty cool, and fairly normal, and he liked Gerard. He thought _Gerard_ was cool. He wanted to hook up with _Gerard_. That was madness.

On the other hand.

Cash wasn't Frank.

When Gerard played it back in his mind it was Frank lying on him, it was Frank's hair falling in his face, it was Frank's hands shoving down Gerard's jeans and Frank's moan in Gerard's ears. It was Frank's laugh and Frank's tongue and Frank's smile.

Gerard's fingers itched to grab his phone and call Frank. Even if Frank wouldn't answer, he could leave some long, pathetic apology on Frank's voicemail.

As soon as he thought about it, he knew he couldn't do it. He always screwed it up when he tried to talk to Frank.

"Why do you look so bummed?" Cash asked.

"I. Uh." Gerard hit on a lie that was close enough to the truth that he could maybe get away with it. "I broke up with someone right before I got here," he said.

Cash patted him on the shoulder. "That sucks," he said. "Maybe when school starts you'll meet someone cool and forget all about that guy."

That was never, ever going to happen. "Maybe," said Gerard, and had a quick flash of panic that Frank might forget about _him_. What if he got home and Frank didn't even remember him? "I'm ready to go home," said Gerard abruptly.

"Soon," said Cash. "Hang in there."

\\\\\

The first few shows of the first tour, Ryan had been shaking so hard on stage Spencer was amazed he hadn't fallen apart. Spencer had been stuck behind the drums, where he couldn't do anything about it but bang the shit out of the drums, but Brendon had made a point of bouncing over to Ryan a few times during the set, grinning goofily at him until Ryan looked up, or barging over to use Ryan's mic, and sing with him when Ryan's voice faltered.

Sometime over the winter Brendon had retreated to his own space and stayed there, as much as it was possible for him to stop bounding everywhere. He'd bounce back to Spencer and play, or he'd go over and grin at Jon, but he stopped edging toward Ryan. Ryan had turned away from him, too, and Spencer wanted to throw his drumsticks at both of them. He was pretty sure he could have hit them without damaging anyone too much. Knock some sense into them.

During second show on this tour, Brendon turned and smiled at Ryan, and Ryan smiled back automatically before he caught himself. By then it was too late; Brendon was all lit up like Christmas and bouncing back over to his mic.

Spencer felt something unknot in his chest he hadn't even realized was tight.

The next night Brendon went as far as turning toward Ryan and making faces while he was playing. Ryan laughed in spite of himself. Jon turned and threw a smug look over his shoulder at Spencer, who rolled his eyes and pretended not to see.

After the show Spencer went up to Brendon. Brendon was bouncing off the walls, the way he always did after a show, giggling and putting instruments away and almost vibrating with energy. "So," said Spencer cautiously, because Jon wasn't around and he didn't trust himself not to fuck up the whole don't-interfere plan. "You seem okay. Both of you, I mean."

Brendon laughed. "Yeah," he said. "We kind of talked."

Spencer wasn't sure what constituted 'kind of' talking. "Okay," he said, trying to feel it out. "How'd that go?"

"Awesome," said Brendon. But then, Brendon defaulted to thinking things were awesome, so Spencer wasn't sure he could trust it.

"Yeah?" he said. He was trying to remind himself not to push, but it was hard, because he'd spent so damn long worrying about it that he could have written Brendon and Ryan a script. "So are you guys... Um."

Brendon shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "We didn't talk about _that_. Just, Ryan said he was sorry for being such a douche, and I said I was sorry for yelling, and now... I don't know, things are fine."

That didn't so much sound 'awesome' to Spencer as 'a thing that should have happened months ago,' but Brendon had his determined face on. Which meant Brendon _knew_ it wasn't entirely awesome, but he was going to act like it was until everyone believed him. "Huh," said Spencer. "What about, uh. Press and stuff?"

Brendon's smile went plastic and he turned away to make sure the right cords were in the right cases and the amps were all set. "We didn't talk about it," said Brendon flatly.

"Because—"

"Spencer." Brendon looked up, and he had that pleading fucking little-kid face on he got sometimes, and Spencer didn't know how to ignore that. "We'll work that out later, okay? He already said we should talk more, which is... From Ryan, that's like... Anyway, it's a step, and all I want is Ryan back, I missed him, so don't... Please don't start in with me about what I ought to..."

Spencer felt intensely guilty, because if it hadn't been for his agreement with Jon, that was _exactly_ what he would have started in with Brendon about. "Okay," he shrugged instead. "I just want you guys to be okay, and you seem, uh, better."

"It's better," Brendon assured him. "Really, I promise, it's way better."

Spencer didn't wave his arms around and yell that 'better' wasn't the same as 'fixed,' or that Ryan needed to behave like a grown up and Brendon deserved more of an apology than that, or anything. "Sure," he said.

Brendon beamed. "It'll be okay," he reassured Spencer. "We just need a little time to get our shit together."

Spencer nodded. Brendon packed up his guitar and went to put it in with the rest of their stuff.

"You look gloomy," said Ryan, appearing out of apparently nowhere.

Spencer bit his lip. He literally had to bite down on it so he wouldn't say anything stupid that would make Jon tsk at him later. The idea was to let Ryan and Brendon do whatever it was they were going to do, and for Spencer to stay out of it.

"I was thinking," Ryan went on, sitting down on an amp. Put his hands on his knees and tapped through his fingers a couple of times. "I don't know... I told Brendon I was sorry."

"Yeah," Spencer said. That was non-committal, right? Just agreement? He could do that without accidentally telling Ryan that he needed to apologize another three hundred times and actually _sound_ sorry this time.

Ryan fidgeted. "I just don't think it's enough."

Spencer blinked. "Who are you and what did you do with Ryan Ross?" he asked.

Ryan rolled his eyes. "I'm not totally unaware of what a dick I've been for the last... Um. Long time. And I know he... He'd pretend not to be mad anymore, because he hates being mad."

"If you knew what a jerk you were being why didn't you knock it off?" Spencer demanded, giving him a little shove.

Ryan stared really hard at his hands. "I... You want the truth?"

There were tons of people walking around, and Zack was giving them a weird look over his shoulder, and Jon was nowhere to be found, so Spencer wasn't sure it was the right moment for a heartfelt confession. "Of course," he said anyway.

"I think I was hoping I'd push him hard enough, and he'd go find someone else."

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," said Spencer flatly. "You're an idiot."

Ryan shrugged a little. "I was making both of us miserable, and that way he'd be happy and I'd be the only one who was miserable, and it... Um. Made sense at the time?"

"But you've given up on the world's dumbest plan, right?" Spencer asked. "You're back from Crazytown?"

Ryan looked up at him, and he was smiling a little, like he did when it wasn't funny enough to actually laugh, but he wanted to. "I think so, yeah," he said. "When he wasn't talking to me, I really missed him. I'm selfish, I guess."

"Or you love him," Spencer said. "Dumbass."

Ryan did laugh that time. "Yeah," he agreed. "So I figure just saying 'sorry' probably doesn't make up for that kind of epic stupidity. It doesn't fix anything for real."

For a second Spencer was scared that Ryan was trying to tell him that he was giving up and leaving again, that he didn't think he could make up for what he'd done no matter what. "Brendon's totally going to forgive you," Spencer blurted. "You don't have to worry."

Ryan didn't have his determined-to-sacrifice-myself face on, Spencer realized, so he relaxed a little. "I know he will," said Ryan. "He's like that. But that doesn't mean it's... Um. Enough."

Spencer said, "I'm astonished at how aware of that you are."

Ryan shrugged a little, with an apologetic smile. "I do eventually figure things out," he said. "It just takes me a while."

Spencer shoved Ryan over with his hip so he could lean against the amp next to him. It was nice, feeling like his best friend was no longer a total jerk. "What are you going to do?" he asked. "Buy him a card? Take him out to dinner?"

"It needs to be..." Ryan shook his head. "That's not enough, either."

Spencer nudged Ryan's shoulder with his own. "This isn't one of those things you get all stupid about, is it? You're not going to quit the band to prove you really mean it?"

Ryan shook his head. "I have to figure out what I can do that'll mean something to him. So he knows. I can't... I'm going to fuck up again, eventually, I always do. I just want him to know that I'm _trying_."

"He knows," said Spencer quietly.

"I want everyone to know," Ryan replied.

Spencer looked at him for a minute. "I'm going to hug you," he announced, "but in a totally manly way, okay? Because this was a totally manly conversation about manly stuff."

"Do what you think you need to do," Ryan agreed gravely.

Spencer leaned over and wrapped his arms around Ryan. "I'll help you figure something out," said Spencer. He figured that didn't violate his agreement with Jon too egregiously. And if it did, fuck it; he was busy being proud of Ryan.


	7. Chapter 7

**Fall**

There was a stream of water trickling down the street and into the drain in front of Brian's house, and Gerard spent an hour amusing himself by dropping sticks and leaves into it and watching them swirl away into the mysterious darkness of under the street. There were monsters down there, of course, and maybe some killer clowns, and Gerard was totally going to draw a comic about how he and Mikey got shrunk and sailed a leaf boat down into the sewer and defeated radioactive alligators.

Greta came out and put her hands on her hips, standing on the sidewalk. "Are you coming in to help?" she demanded.

Gerard shook his head. He was comfortable on the sidewalk, and he had a good stick for poking into the water.

"Fine," said Greta, throwing her hands up. "But when you get to college tomorrow and the only thing you have packed are pink t-shirts and a pair of board shorts, don't call home and complain."

Gerard hid a laugh. "You wouldn't do that," he said confidently.

Greta sighed. "Fine," she agreed, "I wouldn't. You still ought to be packing your own shit."

"I will," Gerard said vaguely. "Later. Or something."

Greta sat on her heels on the sidewalk next to him. "Everybody freaks out," she said quietly. "I mean, last week? Bob totally _cried_ , dude."

Gerard almost giggled again. "He did," he agreed. "So did Ray."

"And they'll both be in the city, and you'll see them all the time, and you can always come home to visit, it's a really fast bus ride and... Just, don't psych yourself out about this, okay? Brian's freaking out enough for both of you."

Gerard looked back at her, squinting into the sun. "I'm pretty sure it's your job to keep him from freaking out," he said.

"There's only so much I can do," Greta sighed. "He's pretty determined to lose his shit. If he doesn't cry tomorrow I'll... I'll eat my hat."

Gerard did laugh that time, he couldn't help it. "You really think so?" he asked, feeling oddly flattered. "He's not... I've been pretty miserable this summer. You think he'll actually... Um. Miss me?"

Greta rolled her eyes. "You're ridiculous," she said. "Both of you are. I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Now, c'mon in and pack, or I really will forget something you want to have with you."

"I'll be there in a little while, okay?" Gerard said. There was this weird stillness in the air, and no one was driving down the street, and he just wanted to sit there for a little while longer, so he'd have something to remember when he thought about _home_ and _my street_.

"Fine." Greta stood up and brushed off her knees, even though they weren't dirty. "Be careful when you come in; Alicia and Mikey are getting kind of handsy on the couch."

"Ewww," said Gerard.

"Yeah," Greta agreed, and headed back in.

Gerard picked up another leaf and tore it into little pieces, dropping them into the water and watching them swirl away. Tomorrow he was going to go off to the city and everything was going to be different and terrifying and he just didn't want to go in and put his clothes in a suitcase, because if he didn't do that it couldn't ever come true.

Someone kicked pebbles into his stream, and Gerard looked up.

Frank was standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, baseball cap on sideways, staring at his sneakers.

Gerard's heart lurched.

"Um," said Frank. "Hey."

"Hey," said Gerard.

Frank scuffed his sneaker on the street. Gerard wondered if he'd come to yell some more.

Frank looked up and right back down. "So I guess you're leaving," said Frank finally.

Gerard wanted to cry. "Yeah," he said. "Tomorrow."

"Yeah, Ray said."

Gerard felt silly staring at Frank, when Frank was staring at the road, so he leaned down and started picking apart the cuff on his jeans where they were coming apart. He was bubbling over with things he wished he could tell Frank, but none of them were coming together in sentences in his head, so he decided silence was the better option.

Frank sighed heavily. "It really sucks that you're going away and we're like. Weird."

Gerard nodded. It sucked harder than anything had ever sucked before, pretty much.

"I don't even remember why we're fighting," Frank said.

Gerard did. He remembered every stupid incident, every second of them not getting along like he'd watched it in a movie, over and over. It was burned on the inside of his brain. "Me neither," he lied, because "You kissed me and it ruined my life," sounded bad.

Frank flopped onto the sidewalk next to Gerard, close enough that Gerard could almost feel their arms brushing, but not quite close enough to touch. Frank had his sneakers in the water, and it made the stream change directions and pool out in the street instead. "I guess, since you're leaving, it probably doesn't matter much anyway," Frank said.

"It definitely doesn't matter anymore," Gerard agreed.

There was a long, painful silence. Gerard watched the water trickling around Frank's sneakers and wished he could take back everything that had happened. Or not. Maybe just do it differently this time. This time he'd tell Frank that they weren't kidding around. This time he'd explain to Frank that he was heartbroken. This time he'd—

"I dumped Emily," said Frank.

Gerard blinked. "Oh," he said. And then, tentatively, "I'm sorry?"

"Dude, you hated her."

Well, he _had_ , but if Frank had dumped her Gerard's animosity was basically gone. "She was okay," he said. "I mean. For a girl."

Frank laughed. "She was okay," he agreed. "I got bored, though."

Frank and Gerard had been friends for four years and they'd never gotten bored of each other. Gerard was definitely proud of that. "That sucks, I guess," he said.

Frank shrugged. "It's just gonna be weird this year, with you guys all gone, and Mikey having a girlfriend and everything."

Gerard had been so busy considering how lonely he was going to be that he hadn't stopped to think that _Frank_ might be lonely, too. "Well," he said. "You could call or something. Or... Visit?" Probably not, since this was the first time they'd talked in months, but Gerard was trying to be a good person, and it wasn't like he could have ever said no to Frank.

"You'll be busy doing..." Frank waved his hand around. "College stuff."

Gerard swallowed down overwhelming terror. "Maybe," he said.

"You're gonna meet people and stuff," Frank went on. He tapped his hands against his knee for a second.

"Maybe," said Gerard again. "I mean. At orientation I basically only met one person."

Frank smiled a little. "You suck at meeting people," he agreed.

"We like, hung out," Gerard said. "And I guess maybe I'll see him around this semester? But we're not like, friends or anything." Just people who exchanged spit, apparently, and Gerard was still a little bewildered by that.

"You should make friends," Frank said. Gerard couldn't tell if he was imagining that Frank sounded a little morose.

Gerard shrugged. Frank was right there, and it was the first time in forever, and Gerard could have sat there with him until they both died. "Cash and I kinda hooked up," he said slowly. It was possible that Frank would jump up and run away, but Gerard felt like that wasn't too likely. Frank would probably just think it was funny.

"Cash?" snorted Frank. "You hooked up with someone named _Cash_?"

Gerard giggled and then caught himself. "I know, right?" he said.

"Dude. I mean, cool I guess, but pick someone with a better name next time," said Frank.

Gerard had always been really fond of the name Frank. "It's not like I get a lot of opportunities," he pointed out. "I probably ought to take them where I find them."

"Lame," said Frank.

"Nah, it was okay," said Gerard. He squinted behind the house, where the sun was setting. In a couple of minutes he needed to go in and help Greta pack, and then it would be dinner, and then it would be bed time, and then he'd be leaving. Forever. It gave him a weird burst of courage, even as his heart started trying to thump out of his chest again. "It was... It was fine," he said, trying not to let his voice crack. He stood up, and Frank stood up too, and they stood there looking at each other, like Frank was waiting for him to finish, and Gerard was trying to find a way to get there.

"Yeah?" said Frank.

"Only... Only it wasn't quite right," said Gerard, taking a deep breath, and balling his hands into fists. "It wasn't the way I thought it was going to happen."

"Huh," said Frank, tilting his head.

"Because it wasn't... It wasn't _you_ ," Gerard blurted. And then quickly, before he could see what kind of look Frank got on his face—horrified? Surprised? Mad?—Gerard mumbled, "See you at Thanksgiving break," and turned and ran into the house.

\\\\\

Suarez always wore a button-up shirt and tie to work, which Brian thought was pretty cool and indicative of his professionalism, until the day he walked in early and saw Gabe grabbing Alex by the tie and dragging him into his office. Brian barely stopped himself from yelling, "Bleach, bleach, my _eyes_!" A couple of days later Travis came by to give them both "a ride home," and Brian officially stopped paying attention to what was happening around the office. The less he knew the better.

Greta, on the other hand, had an extensive collection of strapless dresses. Now that he wasn't worrying about office professionalism so much—Gabe sure as hell wasn't—Brian was free to admire her wardrobe and consider all kinds of illicit office affairs. Mostly they were too busy to make that happen, which sucked.

Brian was getting coffee when he heard Greta yell, "No, fuck _you_!" and the phone slam. He stopped and frowned, because in the year since he'd hired her he'd only heard her yell maybe twice.

"What's up?" he called, looking around the corner to her office.

There was a noise like someone kicking a desk, and she stormed into the hall. "Brian," she said. "Did you or did you not mail out the checks for the Highland equipment? Because this asshole says he never got them, and—"

Brian winced. "I think I forgot," he said. "They went out the week Gerard left, and I... I may have blanked."

She stared at him. "Oh, great," she said. "Then I have to call back and apologize to that jackass?"

"I'll do it," Brian offered. "It was my mistake."

"Sometimes you really suck at your job," Greta snapped. "Do you need me to make you a fucking calendar of what's due when? You know what, I'm going to anyway, because this is like, the third time, and it makes us look unprofessional."

She was clearly so, so pissed, and Brian didn't know what to say. He nodded. "That'd be great," he said. "And seriously, I'll call them and explain what happened. I'll handle it."

"You'd better," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "This is such bullshit."

Gabe's office door opened. "Do you know what I love about you guys?" he bellowed.

Greta looked at Brian. Brian shrugged. "What?" he asked.

"That you two can be stupid in love and still really fucking throw down with each other when you're pissed," Gabe said, and cackled.

"Of course we can," Greta said. "They're totally different things."

Brian tried not to beam like an idiot at her, but it was hard. "You're my favorite," he said.

"Hey!" Gabe yelled. "I'm supposed to be your favorite, you've known me way longer!"

"You don't look as hot as I do in a dress," Greta said, and smiled back at Brian.

"You've never _seen_ me in a dress," Gabe shouted.

Alex stuck his head into the hallway. "Please don't goad him," he said.

Greta burst into giggles. "I love working here because everyone is insane," she said. She put her serious face back on and punched Brian in the shoulder. "Now go fix your fuck up, boss."

It wasn't until later, when Brian was sitting in his office writing an email to Spencer— _I hear things are going pretty well out there, any word on Ryan and Brendon?_ —that he really stopped to consider the situation. Gabe was right. He could work with Greta, and he could date Greta, and they could be two totally different things. And both of them _worked_. It was a lot like realizing suddenly that he was on top of the world.

"What are you smiling about?" Greta asked, walking in with an arm full of papers.

"I was just thinking that I'm really lucky," said Brian.

"Huh," said Greta. She put the papers down on a free chair. "I was thinking the same thing."

Brian tilted his head at her. "How important," he asked, "Do you really think office professionalism is?"

"Hmmm," said Greta. "Overrated, most of the time, as far as I can see."

He got up and leaned back against the desk, grabbing her hand with his and pulling her over. She was warm and soft and she smelled like flowers, and office decorum be damned, he kissed her. Greta made a little noise in the back of her throat and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I don't think Gabe's right, anyway," Greta whispered, pulling away a little.

"No?" Brian asked. He couldn't even remember what Gabe had said, his brain had shut down in a fuzzy cloud of _Greta_.

"We're not stupid in love," she said. "We're _smart_ in love. Look at us, making this work."

"It helps," said Brian, "That you're perfect."

"It helps," Greta corrected him, "That you _think_ I'm perfect."

Brian laughed and turned them around, so Greta was leaning against the desk. And then—fuck it, he was the boss, right?—he lifted her up so she was sitting on the desk and he could kiss her more easily.

It didn't hurt that she wrapped her legs around his and hooked her ankles together. It was pretty spectacular, actually, the way her dress rode up a little bit and she was pressed against him. "So hot," he mumbled, and kissed her again.

"Ahem," said Alex's voice behind him. "Do you two mind if I just close this door?"

Greta burst into laughter, and buried her face in Brian's neck.

"How about," said Brian, not turning around, "You shut the door and then you and Gabe take the afternoon off?"

"Yeah, how about that?" Alex asked, and the door shut.

Greta giggled, "You know _they're_ just going to make out somewhere, too, right?"

Brian shrugged, which was hard, with Greta wrapped around him like that. "So?" he said. He leaned down and kissed her neck. "Now seriously. Where were we?"

\\\\\

By the time Spencer got up, Ryan and Brendon were both sitting on the couch on the bus. Spencer stopped dead in the doorway.

They were sitting next to each other.

Brendon's hand was on top of Ryan's.

Ryan was _leaning_ against Brendon's _shoulder_.

Spencer was still half-asleep, but he was pretty sure he wasn't seeing things. He stood there, rubbing his eyes and trying to figure out if what he was seeing was actually _possible_.

"Are you gonna keep staring?" Brendon asked politely. "Jon's making coffee." He nodded toward the tiny kitchen on the other side of the bunks.

"I... Sorry." Spencer said. He ran a hand through his hair. "I guess you—" _You startled me with the touching_ , was probably a weird thing to say. "I guess I need coffee," he corrected himself.

Brendon made a non-committal noise and snuggled a little bit into Ryan's side, which Spencer knew from experience was not actually very comfortable. Brendon looked like he was enjoying it, though. Spencer shrugged and walked past them into the almost-kitchen, where Jon was standing barefoot and poking at the coffee maker.

"Why are we all up?" Spencer asked. "It's barely noon."

"Press," said Jon. He smiled to himself. "See what happens when I stop letting you run the schedule for everything?"

"Yeah, I don't know what's going on," Spencer scowled.

Jon bumped him with his hip. "And you get to sleep in," he said. He leaned over like he was going to kiss Spencer, but Spencer turned his face away.

"Morning breath, dude, you smell like a dead shoe."

Jon's eyebrow shot up. "Dead shoe?" he asked.

Spencer rolled his eyes and held out grabby hands. "Coffee first," he said. "Words later."

Jon laughed and handed him a mug. "Here," he said. "Go wake up."

"Nnnn," said Spencer, and went back out to the couch.

He sat deliberately at the other end from Ryan and Brendon, just in case they were going to stop touching on his account. Brendon was saying something to Ryan, and Ryan was shaking his head, and it looked like they were mildly unhappy with each other, but hey, they were _talking_ and Brendon still had his hand on Ryan's.

"What do you think, Spence?" said Ryan abruptly, turning to him.

Spencer clutched his coffee tighter. "About what?" he asked cautiously.

"Interviews," said Ryan, and made that flailing hand gesture that meant he expected Spencer to fill in the rest of the conversation he'd missed by reading Ryan's mind.

"Uhhhhh," said Spencer. He killed time by burning his tongue on the coffee. "Ow. Fuck."

"We don't have to decide right now," Brendon sighed. He put his feet on the couch and his chin on his knees. "Maybe no one's even going to ask the 'is anyone in the band single' question?"

Shit, shit, shit. Spencer wasn't awake enough to answer that for real. "I'm trying not to give you guys advice," he blurted instead.

Ryan and Brendon exchanged a look. "What does _that_ mean?" Ryan asked.

Spencer wished Jon would come out of the kitchen. Things made more sense when Jon explained them. "Jon and I talked about it," he said. "I'm gonna just stay out of stuff."

Brendon sighed patiently. "Spencer," he said, "You _love_ yelling about stuff. You _live_ for giving advice."

"Well not anymore. You two have to talk about all that shit yourselves," said Spencer, staring at his coffee. "I'm done doing your dirty work."

"When have you ever done my dirty work?" Ryan asked.

Spencer glared at him.

"Fine," said Ryan. "Sometimes. But this is just a _question_."

"Well then you two ought to talk about it yourselves," said Spencer, and stared at his coffee.

He could hear them thinking at each other about him, but he pretended not to. He had _opinions_ , okay, and he wasn't supposed to share them, so he had to concentrate on something else. He wished again that Jon would come out. What the hell was Jon still _doing_ in the kitchen?

"I just think," said Ryan uncomfortably after a minute. "If we... If we talk about it. We're going to end up a niche band, and you... You want to be really famous. And you deserve that."

Brendon made a funny little noise and turned to look at Ryan. "What?" he said.

"I don't want to get in the way of all the things you want," said Ryan, and his voice was getting quieter all the time.

There was a second where Brendon was completely, perfectly still. Brendon was _never_ totally still. And then he turned and threw himself on Ryan, straddling Ryan's lap, arms up around Ryan's neck. "You're ridiculous," he said. "Ryan. I would busk on the corner for spare change if I got to come home to you, you know that, don't you? You _have_ to know that."

There was a long pause. Hesitantly, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to anymore, Ryan tipped his face up, and Brendon tipped his down. Brendon just barely brushed Ryan's mouth with his, and Ryan's hands came up around Brendon's waist. Spencer looked away and grimaced; that was really none of his business, even if he was dying a little bit for the two of them to make up.

"I mean," said Ryan softly, "What about when it's not just girls screaming for you? When it's boys, too? What am I supposed to do about that?"

"It will be a truly awesome day indeed when the whole world acknowledges that I'm a sex god," Brendon agreed. Ryan smiled. "But you're the only person I want screaming for me."

Less tentatively this time, Ryan leaned up to kiss him again, and Brendon made a little happy noise. Spencer decided to move, because that noise sort of sounded like there was about to be a lot of sex on the couch. And ewww, Spencer had to sit there when they were traveling. He was going to get a plastic cover and make Ryan and Brendon sit on it, like at his grandma's house.

"Wait, wait," said Ryan, turning his face away.

"I'm _tired_ of waiting," Brendon complained, sitting back.

"Your family," said Ryan, and just let those words hang there. Spencer sat back down, because there was a good chance Brendon was about to burst into tears.

Brendon bit his lip. His face was always an open book; Spencer could see him thinking, and considering, and abandoning a dozen different answers. "I guess," said Brendon slowly, "That... I mean. Eventually they're going to have to deal with me, right? One way or the other? And... I'd rather have you around for that."

Ryan flinched. "I fucked that up so badly, Brendon, I'm sorry," Ryan started.

"It's fine," said Brendon. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"It's _not_ ," Ryan insisted. "I'm going to find a way to make it up to you, I swear I will—"

"It's _fine_ ," Brendon repeated, and shut him up with what looked like a very thorough kiss.

If it wasn't actually fine then Brendon seemed pretty determined to pretend it was. Spencer gulped his coffee and stood up. Ryan and Brendon didn't notice. They were pretty caught up in what they were doing, and Jesus, Spencer didn't need to see where Ryan's hands were going, and he certainly didn't want to hear the noises Brendon was making. The one—the only—nice thing about the two of them fighting had been the lack of sex on the bus for Spencer to walk in on. The only bus sex he wanted to think about was his own.

He went back through the bunks to the kitchen, where Jon was smirking with his coffee. "Are you hiding out?" Spencer asked. "You left me all alone in there with the two of them and their just-got-back-together libidos."

"So they're all fixed?" Jon asked.

Spencer shook his head. "They're talking, at least," he said. "They haven't actually decided anything yet. Brendon doesn't seem to care, as long as he gets Ryan."

"Brendon _thinks_ he doesn't care," said Jon. "He wants to stop fighting, I get that, but they need to work something out. Plus, Ryan still owes him a big fucking apology."

"You," Spencer said accusingly, "are totally a secret romantic. God, Jon, I thought I _knew_ you."

Jon laughed. "So, they're busy out there?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Spencer. "Brendon was trying to climb inside Ryan's mouth when I left, and Ryan had Brendon's jeans undone, and it was totally gross." Jon took the mug out of his hands and put it in the sink. "It's like they had no idea I was even in the room anymore. We are not a big enough band to have a bus for each couple, and I love Ryan, okay, but seeing him making out with anyone is gross, especially Brendon, who is also—Um." Jon kept stepping forward, and every time he did Spencer stepped back, until Spencer stepped backward right into the wall. "Jon?"

"Yeah?" Jon asked. He leaned forward a little bit, just enough to roll his hips against Spencer's, and fuck, pajama bottoms weren't really enough to hide Spencer's response to that. Jon put his hand against the wall over Spencer's shoulder. "I was thinking," he said.

"You were?" Spencer asked. If he was breathless it was totally coincidental, and had nothing to do with being crowded against the wall by his totally hot boyfriend.

"We have a good hour before the interview," said Jon. He bent his arm so he could nuzzle Spencer's neck a little. Spencer shivered. "And they're distracted."

"Good thinking," Spencer agreed, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Jon abruptly leaned back. "Except, of course, _morning breath_ ," he said. He had a nasty, evil little grin. "So I guess I'll just go brush my teeth and then we can talk about the setlist for tonight."

"You _asshole_ ," Spencer said, grabbing his arm. Jon burst out laughing. Spencer yanked and Jon fell back against Spencer again, nose to nose.

"You had another suggestion?" Jon asked.

"Shut the fuck up," Spencer said, wrapped his arms around Jon's neck, and dragged him into a kiss.

\\\\\

Gerard had expected college to be weird and different. He'd expected to be lonely and freaked out and unhappy and spend all of his time locked in his room on the phone with Mikey, complaining about coming home.

Mostly, as it turned out, he spent his time lying on Cash's dorm-room floor, watching episodes of Battlestar Galactica and Project Runway.

It was almost four in the morning, and two of the Alexes were asleep. The other Alex was sitting on the bed with Cash—it was the Alex with the hair, not the Alex with the scarf, or the other Alex—and they were talking about... Well, something; Gerard had stopped listening. He was busy drawing in his sketchbook on the floor.

"Boston crème," said Alex firmly.

"Bearclaw, I am _telling_ you, when you're hung over that cream shit makes you hurl."

"It makes _you_ hurl, powderpuff. I want more deep fried shit when I'm feeling gross."

Cash snorted. "Gerard, what do you think?"

"Uhhhh," said Gerard, looking up. "About donuts? I like chocolate ones, I guess."

"Right, but what kind do you get when you make a midnight Dunkin' run because you're hungover?" Alex asked.

Cash elbowed him. "Dude doesn't drink, remember?"

"Ohhh," said Alex. "Are you straightedge? That's hardcore."

Gerard shifted uncomfortably. "I'm just... When I was little my parents were in a car accident because of... Anyway, I just don't. It's not like, a thing." The more he was around drunk people at college the more he wanted to start lecturing them about how fucking stupid it was—Gerard, as it turned out, was really worried that he was going to come back to the dorm one day and Alex or Cash would have drunk themselves to death. It was all Gerard could do not to yell, " _I'm trying to save your life, here!“_

"Oh," said Alex. "Well. Then what's your favorite donut?"

Gerard shrugged. "Chocolate," he said. "With sprinkles." And then, fuck, he got an overwhelming wave of homesickness, because one time he and Ray and Bob and Frank had had a donut-eating contest, and Ray had thrown up everywhere, it had been _hilarious_ , Gerard missed them so much.

"New topic," Cash announced. On the floor Alex-with-the-scarf snored. "Celebrity crush."

"Angelina Jolie," said Alex immediately.

"Laaaaaame," drawled Cash. "Everyone says her. Come up with your own."

"Well who's yours, then?" Alex asked.

Cash said, "Trent Reznor." Which made sense, Gerard had to admit, since Trent Reznor was kind of a weird dude, and Cash was apparently into kind of weird dudes.

"What about you?" Alex asked, nudging Gerard with his foot.

Gerard thought about it for a second. Saying "Peter Parker" was too lame, even for him. Plus, Peter Parker wasn't really real. "Uhhh," he said. "Tobey Maguire?"

"Because of Spiderman, dude, totally," Cash agreed. Cash was incredibly agreeable, Gerard really liked that about him. "Hey, did your ex look like him?"

Gerard blinked. Who the fuck was his ex? Cash hadn't been weird at all when they'd gotten back to school; he'd neither tried to stick his tongue in Gerard's mouth again, nor made fun of him for making out with a stranger during orientation. Gerard was pretty sure Cash didn't qualify as an ex.

"The guy you broke up with before frosh weekend?" Cash prompted.

Oh. _Oh_. "Not really," said Gerard. He wasn't sure he could talk about Frank without feeling a little teary-eyed. "He was more... Short. And kind of... punky, I guess."

"Was he like, in a band?" asked Alex curiously. "I never had an ex. Does it suck?"

"He can play guitar," said Gerard slowly. "Because my babysit—Er, my friend Brendon, who's in a band? He taught us."

"That CD you played us?" said Cash. "I fucking can't _wait_ for them to come out here. You can seriously get us backstage?"

"Sure," said Gerard, who was pretty sure he could talk Brendon into nearly anything.

"Why'd you guys break up?" Alex asked.

Gerard wasn't sure how to put it. "He... We kind of... Something happened, and I freaked out, and I didn't... I never really talked to him about it, and he got mad at me, and then we had a big fight, and it just sucked all over," said Gerard. He paused. “We had kind of a weird talk right before I left, and now… He keeps calling, and I keep not answering the phone. Because I don’t know if he’s still mad at me or not.”

"Dude," said Cash. "You totally still love him."

Gerard's stomach flopped. "Yeah," he said hesitantly. "I... Guess so."

"You should talk to him!" said Alex. He yawned. "I mean, when you get back home."

"Maybe," said Gerard. He was pretty sure he didn't have the nerve to do that, even after the tentative almost-talk he and Frank had had before he left. It was still too big and scary.

"Seriously, just be like, 'Yo, I sucked, sorry.' He probably still loves you, too. Were you guys serious?"

Gerard fidgeted with his pen. "We were... Um. I don't... We never like, talked about it."

"How long were you guys dating?" Alex asked. On the floor the _other_ other Alex flailed a little bit in his sleep.

Gerard really wanted the conversation to be over soon. "We were... Um. Together? For like, four years."

"Ohhh," said Alex. "Well that's different. Everyone breaks up with their high school boyfriend or whatever when they come to college. It's like, everything is different and you realize you've grown into a different person."

Cash laughed. "You mean that's what Brionna told _you_ ," he said.

"Shut _up_ ," scowled Alex.

"But I..." Gerard started. He sat up. "I didn't want things to change _before_ I went. Like... We'd always been one way, and things were changing because I was going away, and I didn't _want_ things to change, and that's what we had a fight about."

Cash looked thoughtful—as thoughtful as Cash ever looked, which wasn't very, honestly. "That's backwards," he said. "Now that you're away you're supposed to realize that you aren't the same people and you don't love him anymore."

"But I _do_ ," said Gerard unthinkingly. Lots of stuff had changed, but not _that_. That was _never_ going to change. It was so absurdly, fundamentally true that Gerard had never really considered it like a thing that _might_ change. Until the day he died, he was going to love Frank.

Even if Frank hated him. Even if Gerard left home forever. Even if they had the world's worst fight. Even if... Even if every awful thing Gerard had _ever thought_ came true. Even if Frank _married Emily_ , which thank god didn't seem very likely now, Gerard was going to love him.

"You're not growing apart?" asked Alex.

"We... We _couldn't_ ," said Gerard. "He's... We're..." He flapped his hands around helplessly.

Cash was kind of wide-eyed. "Like, soul mates?" he said.

"Yeah," said Gerard, even though he was pretty sure that was an uncool answer. There was just always _Frank_ , and when there wasn't Frank, there was a Frank-shaped hole.

"Then you have to talk to him, dude," said Cash. "You can't let your soul mate just dump you."

"Totally," agreed Alex. He kicked Alex-with-the-scarf awake. "Yo, I'm bored. Wake the fuck up."

"Ung," said Alex.

"I still have a box of bleach, if you still want to dye your hair," said Cash, and laughed.

Gerard nodded distractedly. Maybe new hair would be the thing, so he could go home and be a new version of himself, one who wasn't going to totally fuck up when he talked to Frank this time.

Because the heart-racing, adrenaline-pumping, stomach-flipping thing was... The thing was...

The thing was, Cash was _right._

Gerard had to talk to Frank.

\\\\\

Brian met Gerard on the curb outside the bus station and just stared for a minute.

Gerard had obviously been expecting it; he had his sweatshirt hood up and his head down. "Jesus," said Brian. "Is this some kind of 'fuck you' for all the times I told you to cut your hair?"

Gerard rolled his eyes. He looked a lot like Mikey when he did that. "No," he said. "It's just a thing I did. We were bored."

Brian had never been bored enough to shave his head and dye his hair blond. Blue, yes. White, no. "You have to hug me," Brian ordered, knowing Gerard would throw a little fit about doing it in front of the entire Greyhound station. Gerard sighed like it was a big, traumatic deal, and let Brian hug him grudgingly. Brian was years past being fooled by that; Gerard loved getting hugged. He just hated admitting it.

"When did you decide that Mia Farrow was your fashion icon?" Brian asked, grabbing Gerard's suitcase.

"Briiiiiian," Gerard complained. "I don't look like Mia Farrow! I look totally cool. Cash said so."

'Cash' was apparently a real person, not Gerard's imaginary friend who gave bad fashion advice, according to Mikey. Phone calls from Gerard had been in short supply. He called Mikey all the time, but when Brian got on the phone and asked how Gerard was, he usually said "Fine," and hung up. Greta had taken Brian's phone away from him in September after she figured out he was calling Gerard every single day. "He needs space," she said sternly, which was ridiculous; Gerard _hated_ space.

"Mikey would have come with me," Brian said, "but he's late at band practice."

Gerard shrugged. "I talked to him on the phone last night," he said. "I mean, he said he was with Alicia, so I just figured." He paused. "He also said Jeanne was over, and she was cooking?"

"You only came home to eat," Brian complained.

"Well, yeah," Gerard said. "What, you thought I missed you or something?"

He grinned up at Brian, and Brian rolled his eyes. He opened the car door and let Gerard in; Gerard threw his bag in the backseat. "So how's college?" Brian asked.

Gerard shrugged. "Okay," he said. He crossed his arms and slumped back in the car.

"Yeah?" Brian asked, pulling out. "So you made friends? How are classes? Any cool professors? Working on anything cool in class? How's the city?"

"Oh my god, Brian, you're like the Spanish Inquisition," sighed Gerard. "College is like... college. Everyone's fine. Classes are like..." He shrugged. "You know, classes."

"You _could not_ be less helpful," Brian complained. "Come on. What's going on with your life? You have to tell me, okay, we can't turn into one of those families where no one talks."

Gerard laughed a little bit. "Okay," he said. "College is totally weird. No one tells us when to go to bed or to do our homework and last night we stayed up until 6 in the morning talking about Jello. Like, what it's made of, and if it would make a good supervillain or not. And there are all these people around, and classes are really easy, except then I have a paper due or something and it's really _hard_. You know?"

"Do you seriously have a friend named Cash?" Brian asked.

"Cash, and his harem of Alexes," said Gerard. Brian made a face, and Gerard laughed. "There are three of them, they follow Cash around, it's pretty cute."

Brian swerved through traffic. "And you're having fun? You're not thinking about dropping out or anything? You've given up your dream of living in the basement?"

"Brian," Gerard complained again. "It's... I mean, it's kind of sucky, not knowing people. But there's this class on comic art I want to take next semester, and Cash is maybe starting a band and I offered to write some lyrics and stuff, and... I mean. It's okay, I guess."

That was so much better than Brian had dared to hope. "Seriously?" he asked. "I thought... Wow. Awesome."

"You thought I'd be a total basketcase," Gerard accused.

"Dude, do you remember your first day of high school? You _freaked_ ," Brian pointed out. "And this is so much bigger."

"I remember _you_ freaking out," Gerard grumbled. "Hey, is Greta at the house?"

Brian winced. "Yeah," he said. "She's helping Ma with Thanksgiving dinner."

Gerard gave him a look. "You left your girlfriend and your mom home alone together?"

"It's fine!" Brian protested. He paused. "Okay, I promised I'd hurry back because Greta was seven kinds of panicked, but basically it's fine."

"Jeanne likes Greta, though, right?" Gerard asked. "Because... Greta's pretty awesome."

Brian wanted to beam at him for saying that, but he felt like Gerard might take it back if Brian pushed. Gerard was still a teenager, after all. "She is," he said instead.

"They're starting early," was all Gerard replied, looking out the window.

"Well it's going to be a fucking _feast_ tomorrow," Brian pointed out. "Brendon and Ryan and Spencer and Jon are all coming over, since they won't be home. Alicia's coming over. Ray and Bob are supposed to come by for a while. And..." He paused, looking at Gerard out of the corner of his eye, because he wasn't sure how to say it, but... "And Mikey invited Frank."

"He _did_?" Gerard demanded, turning. "He didn't tell me that!"

"Well, Frank's coming over," Brian said. God he hoped Gerard didn't flip out. Maybe if they could be civil near each other for the evening they could go back to being friends.

Gerard bit his lip. "Huh," he said. He looked oddly determined. "Well. Um. Okay. I have to talk to him anyway, I guess."

"About what?" Brian asked.

Gerard scowled. "None of your business," he said.

Brian held up his hands in surrender. "Fine," he said. "Don't tell me." He was just glad Gerard had something to _say_ to Frank. Assuming, of course, that it wasn't something as disastrous as whatever had happened last year.

Gerard kept yawning and looking out the window. "You okay?" Brian asked. "Not too tired to go see the band?"

"Don't be stupid," Gerard snorted. "Of course I'm going."

"We're picking up Ray and Bob on the way," Brian went on. "I can fit all of you in the car, and Greta's going to drive Mikey and Alicia. She's _always over_ ," he sighed. "Not that I don't like her, she's cool and all."

"Frank was always over, too," Gerard pointed out, and Brian couldn't tell if his tone was wistful or not.

"Frank might be at the concert, too," said Brian cautiously.

Gerard just shrugged. Brian wished for the millionth time he knew what the hell was going on inside that kid's head.

They pulled up in front of the house and Jeanne came out. "My baby!" she said, and Gerard rolled his eyes a little bit, but he let her hug him. "No one feeds you at that school? Come in and get some food." She ushered him in and didn't even look at Brian, who tried hard not to feel snubbed.

When he got inside, though, Greta was waiting to waylay him by the door. "She's like a chef or something," Greta whispered. "She's _silently judging me_ in the kitchen!"

Brian put an arm around her waist. "Nothing about my mom is silent," he promised. "If she were judging you she'd shout about it."

Greta put a lock of hair in her mouth and frowned. "She thinks I'm a bad cook, so I'm a bad mom, so I'm a bad girlfriend, Brian, I can _hear her thinking_."

"She thinks you're awesome, she said so," Brian assured her. "You need to relax."

Greta made an annoyed little noise and put her head on his shoulder. "I was never going to be that girl, okay? The one who was intimidated by her boyfriend's mom? But your mom is so... _Competent._ "

"Believe me, I know," Brian sighed.

"I want her to like me," Greta complained, tugging on his shirt. "I want her to _rave_. I want her to go to a Tupperware meeting and brag that her son got the best girl ever."

Brian laughed. "What's a Tupperware meeting?"

"A... You know, one of those things housewives go to. Knitting circle, whatever. The point is she should tell all the other moms to suck it."

He was laughing too hard to answer; she looked so indignant and adorable. "I love you," he said. "And my mom does, too. I'll let her know she's supposed to be bragging. God knows she loves to bore the guys at the Post Office with news about Gerard and Mikey."

"That's all I want," Greta agreed. "Does that sound crazy? I'm not crazy, Brian, I swear, it's just the holidays, and your mom, and what if I burn something? Augh!"

"Okay, listen," said Brian. "You can't lose your shit now. Frank's coming over for dinner tomorrow; it'll be all I can do to keep him and Gerard civil. Plus, Spencer says Ryan and Brendon are okay, but he _also_ says Ryan's planning something for the concert tonight. I don't even know what that means."

Greta sighed. "Fine," she said, "I'll go back in and cook some more. And then tonight, when we're alone, I'm going to _totally_ flip out at you, okay?" She paused. "Your mom's not going to... Does she care if I... Um. Brian. I don't want your mom to think I'm a whore or anything, okay?"

"I promise, she doesn't," Brian said. He squeezed her hand. "She thinks you're amazing, and the kids think you're amazing, and if you _weren't_ spending the night she'd smack me and tell me someone else was going to steal you away for not treating you right."

"Maybe I should go home," Greta fretted.

"Don't you dare." He kissed her, although she was looking over his shoulder. It took her a second to register that he was even there, and let her eyes start to flutter shut. When he could tell she was starting to relax, he tipped his head, resting his forehead against hers. "My mom likes you, okay?"

"Okay," Greta agreed quietly. She took a couple of deep breaths. "So how long before we leave for the concert?"

"An hour, give or take," Brian said.

Greta pushed up the sleeves of her little-old-lady sweater determinedly. "Just enough time to start the pie filling," she said. "Your mom's going to love it. She better."

"She will," Brian promised.

\\\\\

The last show of the tour meant Brendon was buzzing with energy. Brendon kept looking out at the crowd from backstage and then come running over to Spencer to announce, "I saw Brian!" or "Gerard's here!" Which Spencer fucking knew, since he'd talked to Brian on the phone when they arrived, but he just nodded and took the soda out of Brendon's hand, because he didn't need any more sugar.

Ryan was acting up, too, but for entirely different reasons. He had a completely petrified look on his face, if you knew him well enough to notice it. He was working hard to hide it when Brendon was around, but whenever Brendon bounced up to the curtain Ryan would turn to Spencer, and all Spencer could do was shrug back helplessly. It was Ryan's plan. It was utterly beyond Spencer's power to help him at this point.

"Last show and then two weeks off," said Jon, wrapping his arms around Spencer from behind. "Then we shoot the second video, then we tour Europe. Fucking _Europe_ , dude."

"I know," said Spencer.

"I'm so fucking psyched," said Jon. "And Zack's coming with us, too, did he tell you? He just got word. It's going to be awesome."

Spencer couldn't think about two weeks from now, when he was busy being concerned about what was going to happen in a few minutes. "Uh huh," he said distractedly.

Jon sighed. "Should I be worried?" he asked.

"What? No," said Spencer quickly. He glanced over his shoulder; Jon didn't look especially reassured. "It's nothing to worry about, I mean," he explained. "Ryan just... He has a thing he wants to do. And it's making him nervous, and that's making _me_ nervous."

Jon shook his head. "What have I told you about you and Ryan being separate people?"

"I know, just... I'm gonna really beat the shit out of the drums tonight, I think," said Spencer.

Zack wandered back in from on stage and waved at them. "One minute," he said. He waggled his eyebrows at Spencer, who nodded tightly back. Big plans were afoot.

Jon squeezed Spencer's arm and stepped away. "Rock the fucking house," he said.

The lights went down and the crowd started screaming—Spencer still wasn't used to the idea that people had come to see _their band_ , even if they weren't headlining. It made him tingle all over. Brendon bounced by, running out on stage, the lights came up, and the screams got louder. Ryan looked back at Spencer and gave him what passed for a smile when Ryan was freaking out.

Spencer couldn't see a damn thing from the riser, because he was too far back to see the crowd, even if the lights had been up. He liked to imagine he could see Brian and Greta and the kids out in the crowd. Mostly what he could see was the back of Brendon as he bounded around the stage, singing and waving and playing guitar and piano until Spencer was exhausted just watching him.

Ryan turned around more than usual, wandering back toward the drums to give Spencer looks that ranged from "oh my god," to "I think I'm going to throw up." Spencer used his best "Knock it the fuck off, you're fine," glare in return, but Ryan didn't seem comforted.

Maybe because they were all on edge, but the show was tight. The songs sounded better than usual, Brendon was better with the crowd than usual, the cheers were louder than usual. It was awesome.

So awesome that Spencer nearly forgot about the butterflies in his stomach when they walked off stage. The lights didn't come back up immediately. They were standing backstage, sweaty and disheveled, and Brendon tossed Ryan a happy grin that Ryan didn't return, because he was looking nervously at Spencer. Spencer clenched and unclenched his fists and nodded, once, and patted Ryan on the shoulder. "Zack?" said Spencer.

"Yeah," said Zack, and brought the lights up again. The crowd started yelling.

"Wish me luck," Ryan said under his breath, and headed back out.

Brendon frowned. "What's he doing? Ryan, where are you going?" He started to bolt after Ryan, but Spencer caught Brendon's hand in his. "What?" Brendon asked. "Spencer, what?" Spencer laced his fingers through Brendon's and squeezed, pulling him back from the edge of the stage.

Ryan picked up his guitar and pulled a stool out to the center of the stage. He sat down awkwardly. The crowd were understandably confused; when did the next-to-last band ever get an encore? Their silence was making Ryan's shoulders incredibly hunched and tight, and he was too far away for Spencer to be sure, but it looked like he was clutching the bridge of his guitar tightly enough to snap it. "Um," said Ryan, leaning in to the mic. "Hey."

The crowd yelled back, which didn't make Ryan look much happier. "Spencer," Brendon whined, trying to tug free. Spencer wrapped his arm through Brendon's and whispered, "Shhhh."

"I know this isn't um. Usual," said Ryan after a minute. "I hope you'll uh... Give me a minute." He fidgeted with the guitar and almost dropped it.

Someone in the audience laughed. Spencer could have punched them in the face. Brendon was trying to bounce up on his tiptoes and wiggle out of Spencer's hug, and Spencer had to concentrate on holding him down.

"I'm... Not very good at this. But I. I owe someone a better apology," Ryan said. The audience fell quiet again.

Backstage, Brendon made this little _noise_ , and shook his head. "Hey, just listen," said Spencer quietly. His heart was in his throat, because Ryan had been planning this forever, and Brendon just had to _get_ it.

Ryan cleared his throat uncomfortably. "This was my idea, and Spencer said it was stupid and cheesy, but I decided that was kind of... perfect. So. I guess..." He looked over at them backstage just for a second. Spencer squeezed Brendon's hand, and Brendon tried to nod. Behind them, Jon stepped up, not quite close enough to touch, but close enough that Spencer could feel him there.

On stage, Ryan stared at his sneakers for a minute. When he finally looked up, his face was pale, but a little bit hopeful. "I do stupid stuff sometimes, because I'm trying to stop things from... From hurting, I guess. I'm selfish. But I'm gonna try to be better. And I'm really, really sorry about how I handled stuff before."

"Oh my god," Brendon whispered. He curled his hands around Spencer's arms and went still. Spencer was going to have bruises, or else he was going to leave them on Brendon, and he didn't much care. It was nice, the way he could feel Brendon's heart beating. It made Spencer feel less like he might fall over.

"But I do listen. I always do try to... Anyway. This is uh," said Ryan quietly. "This song is called ‘In My Life,’ and it’s by the Beatles." He stared at his hands and started to play.

His voice sounded weak and breathy and a little flat, and he was nervous, so the guitar playing could have been better. The crowd was totally quiet. Brendon started crying two notes in and didn't stop, or move, except to wipe his cheeks off with his hand. Spencer couldn't breathe, he was so fucking proud of Ryan; the way he kept going, even while his voice was shaking.

It felt like they stood there forever, frozen, watching, and then suddenly it was over, and Ryan stood up. The crowd roared as he put the guitar down and waved awkwardly. They screamed and he smiled, but it was tiny and uncertain. He hadn't looked over at the people waiting backstage at all. Spencer thought he heard Gerard and Brian out there somewhere, yelling encouragement.

The audience in the front row on the far side saw Brendon wrench himself free from Spencer and throw his arms around Ryan's neck. They didn't know why, though, or what he was saying as he clung, face pressed against Ryan's shoulder. They didn't see Ryan's real smile, blazingly bright across his face, or the way his hands were shaking where he fisted them in the back of Brendon's shirt. They didn't know that the two of them just stood there for a minute, holding each other, breathing.

"Whatever you want to tell people," said Ryan quietly. "And your family. Whatever you need to do—"

Brendon shook his head and didn't let go. "We'll talk about it," he said. "But... Not right now. You didn't need to, Ryan, I wasn't mad—"

"You deserved a better apology from me," Ryan said. And then, "I swear I'll try harder, I'll be better, Brendon, I can—"

"You're _perfect_ ," said Brendon ferociously, and kissed him.

Ryan staggered a little bit—Brendon was clinging so tightly to Ryan's neck that his feet weren't even on the ground anymore—but he balanced himself with a hand against the wall. Spencer was sure he heard an "Awwwww," from the other bands standing around back stage, and that was definitely Zack, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

Spencer took a long, deep breath and willed himself not to get choked up just because his best friend and his other best friend were behaving like real people again.

Jon nudged Spencer with his hip. "I see tears in your eyes, Smith," he teased.

"Shut up," said Spencer, trying resolutely not to sniffle. "I told you. I don't cry."

"Uh huh," said Jon. "So I see."

He put his arms around Spencer and Spencer melted into it a little bit. "It's kind of awesome," said Spencer, as if the whole thing needed defending.

"And now," said Jon quietly, "everything's all better."

"Shut up," Spencer repeated. "It is. Or it will be. As long as they _talk_ to each other."

"I think those crazy kids might just make it after all," Jon agreed. He bit Spencer lightly on the ear. "You know, I probably owe you an apology, too."

Spencer turned his head. "Don't," he said immediately.

Jon was grinning. "C'mon," he said. "You don't think it'd be romantic if I got up onstage and sang The Wind Beneath My Wings? Or the Love Theme from Titanic?"

His stupid adorable boyfriend and his stupid adorable grin. Spencer was _not_ tempted to grin back at him. "Jon, I swear to god, I will never speak to you again," Spencer threatened.

"Liar," said Jon. "You love me."

"Yeah," Spencer agreed, "But I'll still leave your sorry ass if you get up there and sing Celine Dion at me."

Jon pretended to consider. "What about Journey? Or Michael Bolton? What about—"

Spencer was working so hard not to laugh, but it was hard. "I'm serious, Jon, I will never forgive you, ever." He crossed his arms and tried to look stern.

"I'll write you love songs," said Jon happily. "Songs that you have to play the tambourine on. A whole album full of songs about how much I love you and you love the tambourine."

Spencer started laughing, then, he couldn't help it. He was still laughing when Jon leaned up and kissed him.  


/////

Gerard cried a little bit, but it wasn't his fault; he knew how scared Ryan got before he went on stage, and he saw the look on Ryan's face when he started to play. He was close enough to the front to see Brendon throw himself at Ryan, too, and Gerard maybe elbowed Bob in the back and Bob turned around looking like _he_ was going to cry, too. Bob liked to pretend he was tough, but he was a total softie.

"You guys," said Gerard, trying to flap his hands, but there wasn't a lot of room in the crowd, so he just tugged on their arms until they moved through the crowd toward the back of the club with him. There was some space at the back, and Gerard took a minute to wave around wildly. "Ryan. Can you _believe_. Ryan!" he yelled.

Ray sniffled. "I guess they aren't fighting anymore," he said.

"I'm going backstage," said Gerard. "I need to hug someone."

Mikey shoved his way out of the crowd, pulling Alicia by the hand. She was a nice enough girl, even if she did wear a thousand pounds of eye makeup. She didn't do it as stylishly as Ryan did, which Gerard thought was kind of sad. "Brendon," said Mikey.

"Yeah," Gerard agreed. "C'mon."

Mikey left Alicia with Bob and Ray—they knew each other, and she could totally talk about band stuff with them—and shoved their way over to the stage door. Luckily Zack was standing there. Zack's eyes were kind of red, which made Gerard want to hug him.

"It's a fucking mess back here," said Zack. "C'mon." He let them in and waved them toward the corner where all the amps were stacked, and where Ryan was sitting on a pile of boxes, and Brendon was hanging all over him.

"You _guys_ ," said Gerard. He couldn't think of anything else to say, so he said it again. "You guys!"

"Oh my god, hi!" said Brendon, detaching himself from Ryan and throwing himself at Gerard. Gerard was actually a little taller than Brendon, which was something he was never going to get used to, and he definitely weighed more, but he still almost fell on his ass under the force of Brendon's hug. And then just as he was getting used to the idea that Brendon was there, he was gone, throwing himself at Mikey.

Ryan smiled a little self-consciously and looked at his sneakers. "Did I look like a total idiot?" he asked quietly, while Brendon babbled something at Mikey about being happy and knowing what happiness tasted like.

"Not at all," Gerard assured him. "You looked like pretty much the best boyfriend ever." He paused, and then edged a little closer to Ryan, because he hadn't quite worked it out in his head yet, and he didn't want to make a big public thing out of it until he was sure. "Did that... Do you think that always works? Doing something that's... Big?"

Ryan tilted his head. "I think it depends on who you're doing it for," he said. "Brendon always cries at the end of the movie, you know, he's into..." He waved his hand. "Why, are you planning something?"

Gerard's face got a little hot. "Maybe," he said. "But I can't think of anything that's that _big_."

Ryan said, "Maybe it doesn't have to be. Maybe it's enough if it's honest."

Brendon bounced back over and threw an arm around Gerard's neck. "Are you so excited for Thanksgiving tomorrow? I'm _so_ excited. Do you think Jeanne's going to make mashed potatoes again? She puts that stuff in it—What's that stuff? Anyway it's delicious. I—"

Ryan grabbed his hand and pulled him over, rolling his eyes. "You're a little hyped up," he said. "Maybe some deep breaths would help."

Brendon flailed a little. "No I'm not! I'm just _excited_ , it's Thanksgiving! Everyone's here!"

"I'm gonna take him home, I think," said Ryan. "We'll see you guys early tomorrow, okay?" He stood up, because Brendon was humming with energy, and he was going to pull them both out the door in a second. Ryan stopped long enough to look at Gerard. "Just," he said softly. "Mean what you say."

Gerard nodded. Ryan and Brendon left, with Brendon singing something at the top of his lungs and dragging Ryan along by the hand, and Ryan trying not to laugh. Gerard wasn't great at talking to Frank, and he couldn't think of anything dramatic to do, but he could probably tell the truth, if he could get Frank to sit still and listen.

"I, uh," said Mikey abruptly. "I didn't mention. I invited Pete over for Thanksgiving."

Gerard blinked. "Whoa," he said. "What? Did I miss the détente in the cold war?"

"No," said Mikey. "I'm just trying to thaw things out between us. He probably won't come, since Alicia's gonna be there and all. I just." He shrugged. "Wanted to offer."

"I think that's nice," said Gerard cautiously. "Did he say anything?"

"Not yet," said Mikey. "Patrick said he'd think about it, though."

Right, inviting Pete meant inviting Patrick. "Good luck with that," said Gerard.

Mikey shifted from foot to foot. "I don't think I'm going to sleep at all tonight," he said.

Gerard sighed. "Me, neither."

When the show was over and Brian and Greta drove everyone home, Gerard spent a long time sitting on Mikey's bed, looking at all the stuff Mikey had been doing while he was gone. There was a lot of band rehearsal stuff from school, and some pictures of him and Alicia, and a bunch of new CDs he'd been listening to that Gerard had never heard of. Mostly it was nice to sit in the same room as his brother, instead of just texting him every ten minutes.

Gerard didn't sleep at all. He spent the night staring at the ceiling and rolling over. It was awesome to be back in his house, in his bed, but it was so much quieter than the dorm, and it meant Frank was so much closer. Gerard had managed not to blurt "Soul mates!" at Ray or Bob, but it had been hard. He went over and over and over what he wanted to say, and every time Frank freaked out, or got mad again, or said he'd gotten engaged to Emily while Gerard was away at college, and by the time the sun came up in the morning, Gerard hadn't done much more than toss and turn all night.

He didn't actually drag himself downstairs until mid-morning. He and Brian had compromised a long time ago on a mid-afternoon Thanksgiving meal, which meant Jeanne had been cooking all morning already. Greta was in and out of the kitchen, looking frazzled—Greta _never_ looked frazzled—and Jeanne shooed her out as Gerard walked in.

"Go and keep Brian company," Jeanne ordered. She looked a little bit older than last time Gerard had been home, it was scary. "You two should be enjoying the holidays together, not fussing over the food."

"But I can help!" Greta protested.

Jeanne hugged her. "Honey," she said. "You've already helped. If you could see what it used to be like around here... Now go distract my boy so he'll stop fussing." She gave Greta a little shove toward the living room.

The house wasn't really designed to have a million people in it, but they were doing okay. Jeanne ruled the kitchen with an iron fist, but apparently she was letting Spencer help out. Mikey was sitting on the stairs with Alicia, who was wearing a festive holiday hoodie with evergreens on it, and a ton of eye makeup. She and Mikey had almost-matching glasses, too, which Gerard thought was a little sickening.

So far there was no sign of Frank. Gerard couldn't decided if he was happy or not about that. It gave him a little more time to prepare, but it also made him feel even more nervous. He flopped on the couch, in between the piles of Ryan-Brendon-Jon and Greta-Brian.

"Are you gonna call them?" Ryan asked, elbowing Brendon a little.

Brendon frowned and shrugged. "I should," he said. "Right? It's Thanksgiving? I should call and say hi? Because I mean... I can." He bounced his knee up and down at approximately the speed of light.

Ryan rested his chin on Brendon's shoulder. "We can go upstairs," he said. "If you want me to be there when you call."

Brendon laughed a little shakily. "What are you going to do?" he asked. "Yell at them if they're mean to me?"

"That’s the plan," said Ryan. Jon patted him on the arm.

On the other side, Greta was complaining, "She's letting Spencer cook, but not me."

"Spencer loves cooking, and he never gets to when they're touring," Brian said. "It's not a thing. You want to know what's a thing?"

"Mmmm," said Greta.

"This morning when I got up, you know what she said to me?" Brian asked. "She said to me she couldn't believe I'd found someone the kids loved so much. She said I was lucky. She told me if I screw it up, she'll kill me."

Greta bit her lip. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Greta sighed and sat down on Brian's lap. "Okay," she said. "I don't know if I mentioned that the holidays stress me out."

"I worked that out."

Gerard slumped a little bit. He was used to having lots of teenagers around, but lots of adults not so much. If things didn't calm down in a second he was going to go back upstairs and hide in his room until dinner.

Mikey was texting someone. "Yo, Gee," he said.

"Yeah?" Gerard asked, leaning over Brian to look at him.

"I got a thing for uh..." He jerked his head toward Brendon. "It's down in the basement. Can you go get it before we eat?"

"Why can't you go get it?" Gerard complained.

"I'm busy," said Mikey, pointing to his girlfriend.

Gerard sighed. "Fine," he said. "What am I looking for?"

Mikey gave him a significant look. "You'll know it when you see it."

Gerard made his most put-upon face and stood up like it took all the effort in the world. Mikey looked unimpressed. Gerard dragged his feet and sighed a lot as he flipped on the lights and went downstairs.

Basements all smelled weird, in Gerard's experience. He wrinkled up his nose. There was Brian's weird old couch and a couple of boxes of Gerard's—and Brian's—comics piled around, and some stuff Gerard remembered playing with when he was younger. Nothing screamed 'give me to Brendon,' though, and Gerard frowned. Mikey was up to something.

At least it was quiet down there. Gerard thought about going back up, and decided he could claim he was 'still looking,' so he flopped on the couch instead. It smelled musty, and he sank so far down into it he wasn't sure he could get up again. Which was nice, actually, and when Brian came looking for him he'd make Brian help him stand up.

The door to the basement opened and closed. "I don't know what you meant," Gerard yelled, in case it was Mikey.

"Yeah," said Frank. "I figured that out."

Gerard froze. He needed to stand up so he could meet Frank eye-to-eye, but when he tried to get up the stupid couch kept sucking him back in, and he ended up flailing around until Frank just appeared in front of him.

Frank looked awesome. His hair had gotten long so it fell in his face, and there were rips in his jeans, but he looked... he looked _Frank_. Gerard felt it, physically, that Frank-shaped hole getting filled. And even if Frank was pissed, even if he was dating Emily again, even if... Even if _anything_ , at least he was there.

"Hey," said Gerard, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Hey," said Frank. "Mikey said to come get you?"

"He told me there was something for Brendon down here," said Gerard, trying for casual, because he didn't want to drop the 'I love you' bomb too early.

Frank frowned. "Did you find anything?"

"Not yet."

Frank chewed the inside of his cheek for a second, and shrugged. He sat down on the stairs. "I can wait, I guess." He tilted his head. “Your hair is all white. It’s cool.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” said Gerard, trying not to beam. Now was not the time for beaming, not yet. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. "Um." He took a deep breath. His hands were shaking a little bit in his pockets, and his throat felt tight. "I uh... I wanted to talk to you? Anyway?" His voice trailed off uncertainly.

"Yeah?" said Frank, tipping his head. "That’s different. Because last time we talked you ran away, and you never answer your phone, ever."

Gerard grimaced. “Yeah,” he said. “That was… That was like, me warming up, I guess. Sorry about the phone thing. Um.” Gerard was going to throw up, he couldn't do it, he couldn't handle this. "You know Ryan, last night?" Gerard blurted finally. "Did you see the concert?"

"When he sang that song?" asked Frank. "He and Brendon aren't broken up anymore, right? Mikey said."

"Yeah," said Gerard, nodding too hard. He couldn't stop shaking. "It's like that."

There was a pause. "What's like that?" asked Frank.

"Um," said Gerard. His hands felt all tingly and his head was buzzing. "I am, I guess."

"What?" asked Frank.

All the conversations Gerard had planned just... Went away. His head was totally empty. Frank was looking at him, and he didn't look mad, but he would in a minute when Gerard told him what he was thinking, and then... And then... "I screwed it up," Gerard stuttered. "With you. All of it."

"You mean the fight we had?" Frank asked. He wrinkled up his nose. "I said some pretty shitty stuff, too."

"Before that," Gerard said. Why was his mouth so dry? "When you..." He couldn't say it, he had to stop and start again. "I was scared that things were going to change," he said. "I was trying to make them _not_ change. With you."

Frank considered that for a minute. "Why would things change with us?" he asked.

"Because I... Because last year I realized that... I finally figured out that I love you," said Gerard, and then he waited to die.

Frank looked at him.

Gerard's heart was pounding so hard it was going to leap right out of his chest.

Frank wasn't frowning. He was just... Sitting there.

"I'm gonna throw up," said Gerard, and sank back down on the couch.

After a minute, Frank stood up. He crossed his arms and stood there in front of Gerard, who was shaking so badly he had to put his head down on his knees for a second. "Explain," Frank said finally.

"I... I knew if I was around you too much you'd _know_ ," said Gerard miserably. "And if you knew, things would be weird and different, and I was already graduating and I couldn't... I didn't want to lose... I would have died, okay? But then I screwed everything up anyway."

Frank looked at the floor for a long time. When he looked up, he still didn't look too mad, which Gerard decided was a good sign. "That's why you were avoiding me?" he said. And then, "Because dude, I knew I was in love with you in like, ninth grade. You're kind of slow."

"I _know_ ," Gerard said. His heart tried to leap and flutter at what Frank had said, but he crushed it ruthlessly. Frank _had_ known in 9th grade. That didn't mean he felt that way now.

Frank sighed. He sat down on the couch, not close enough to be actually touching Gerard, but close enough that Gerard could kind of sense him there. "So before my birthday last year," said Frank slowly, "I should have said, 'Hey, Gerard. You're my best friend, and I kind of love you and I'm gonna kiss you.' That's what you're telling me?"

"You said you were _kidding_ ," Gerard moaned.

"You were freaking out!"

"Well... Yeah!" Gerard said. His heart was thumping again. He risked a look up at Frank. "Anyway, I screwed it all up and then you had _Emily_ , and now..." This was so scary. "I don't know how you feel, now. I just know that I have to be honest about it, or..." He shrugged helplessly.

"I should have just punched you," Frank said. "When you freaked out, you freaked _me_ out." He looked so annoyed, Gerard's heart sank again. "I shouldn't have said that. About being kidding."

"You thought it was _funny_ , I wanted to _die_ ," said Gerard.

Frank fidgeted a little bit. "It's just... There was one time, okay, when you first moved in? When you said, if you were ever going to kiss anyone, it was going to be someone like me." He shrugged. "I thought you remembered. But I guess you didn't."

Gerard _totally_ remembered, now that Frank mentioned it, but he never would have thought _Frank_ remembered. "I was panicking," said Gerard. Frank still hadn't said anything about how he felt _now_ , and it was so, so scary, admitting all this stuff. Gerard wasn't going to be able to eat anything at Thanksgiving, he felt way too sick.

Frank looked at him. "That's what you wanted to tell me?" he asked.

Gerard took a deep breath and shook his head. One more thing to blurt out, and then he could go hide forever. "I figured out that... That it didn't matter if things changed. I don't care. Even if you don't feel, um." His voice tried to give out, and he forced himself to rally. "Even if you don't feel that way anymore, I do. I always will. And I just want you back, as a friend, even, I can't... It's so _awful_ everywhere without you, and I... I had to tell you that."

There was a long, horrible pause. Gerard tried to decide where to throw up, and then, after Frank left, where he was going to hide for the rest of Thanksgiving break.

"Gee," said Frank quietly. He leaned over, so he was touching Gerard's arm with his. "I'm... You're my best friend."

Gerard nodded.

"And... And I love you, and I'm gonna kiss you. Okay?"

Gerard couldn't... He didn't know how to... His heart felt like a jackhammer, and his hands were shaking again, and there was Frank, pressing against him, and it was like Christmas, only better, it was like _everything._ "Please?" said Gerard.

Frank leaned in and kissed him.

This time it was everything it hadn't been before; it was soft and it was warm and it felt like coming home. Frank tilted his head and Gerard tilted his, and even when their noses bumped and it should have been awkward it wasn't. Gerard didn't dare grab the way he wanted to, it felt like a dream, like he was going to wake up and it would all go away, so all he did was slide his hand tentatively around Frank, turning toward him a little more.

"Missed you," Frank mumbled.

"Missed you more," said Gerard.

Frank grabbed his shoulder and held on, like he thought Gerard might go somewhere. Gerard was never going to move again. He was sinking into the couch, and Frank was sinking with him; their thighs were pressed together and Frank's elbow was a little in his stomach, and it was the most transcendently awesome thing that had ever happened in Gerard's entire life.

"Mikey," said Gerard suddenly.

Frank pulled back. "Um," he said. "Could you _not_ say your brother's name while we're making out? It's weird."

Gerard felt his face getting red. "I mean, he sent us down here," said Gerard. "He wanted this to—Shut up! You know what I meant!"

Frank laughed. It was the best laugh in the whole history of laughs. "Mikey plotted this out?" he asked. "Mikey's like an evil fucking genius."

"Not evil," said Gerard. "More like _awesome_." He moved his other hand tentatively onto Frank's thigh. "Can I... Is it okay if I—"

"C'mere," said Frank, grabbing Gerard's shirt with both hands and dragging them both down on to the couch. Gerard made a totally embarrassing noise and caught himself with his hands on either side of Frank's head. Their legs were all tangled together and Frank was clutching him and laughing, and Gerard was melting from the inside. "You can touch anything you want," said Frank.

Gerard bit his lip. "Anything I want?" he asked.

Frank leered. " _Anything_ you want," he promised, and pulled until Gerard bent his elbows and leaned down to kiss him.

Maybe all the stuff with Cash hadn't been a total waste; Gerard knew to open his mouth a little bit and coax Frank's mouth open, too. Frank's tongue, it turned out, wasn't nearly as weird as Cash's, and even better—even _better_ , Frank was working his free hand up underneath Gerard's shirt, and where he was touching it felt like Gerard was on fire. He tried to balance on one hand so he could touch Frank with is other hand, but it was too complicated to balance and kiss and everything all at once, he wasn't coordinated enough.

Frank kept giggling. "Can I—I've been thinking about this—Let me—" He wiggled a little bit, and if he kept doing that Gerard wasn't going to be very good at this. At least, not for very long. Frank slid both hands under Gerard's shirt and shoved, until Gerard got the idea and sat up a little, so Frank could pull his shirt off.

It got stuck around his head. "Ow, my arm is—Frank, stop, that tickles!" Gerard said, laughing. He would have been happy just to hold hands with Frank, he would have been happy if Frank had just wanted to be friends again. But Frank was laughing and pulling off his shirt, and then Gerard barely had time to feel stupid about having no shirt on before Frank was wiggling out of his, and when Gerard leaned back down his skin was touching Frank's skin, and it made him feel like he was being electrocuted all over.

Electrocuted in a _good_ way.

They made out again, for a while. Gerard tried to be laid back and cool about it, but his hands were on Frank, on Frank's _skin_. Gerard could die happy.

It didn't mean his brain had shut off, though. He sat up suddenly, and Frank made this awesome unhappy noise that shot straight down Gerard's spine. "Your mom," said Gerard.

Frank just stared at him. "Okay, second rule for making out," he said. "You can't talk about my _mom_ , ewww!"

"Your mom is going to freak out!" said Gerard. "She thinks I'm that weird kid down the block, what's she going to do when she finds out we're soul mates?"

Frank frowned. "My mom loves you, dude. She always has." He paused. "Wait, are we soul mates?" He had a big goofy grin when he asked, and it made Gerard so stupidly happy.

"Yeah." Gerard grinned back. "Cash helped me work that out."

"I'm going to keep making up rules," Frank said. "You _also_ can't talk about other dudes you hooked up with, okay?"

"But what are we going to tell your mom? And Brian! And everyone!" said Gerard. He'd been so caught up in the idea of talking to Frank that he'd never considered the consequences. Like _telling people_ about it. And they had to tell everyone; they were all invited to the wedding. Which, clearly, wasn't going to be for a while, but that wasn't the point.

"They all know," said Frank patiently. "They've all known forever."

"Oh," said Gerard, considering. "Really?"

"Really," said Frank. He started laughing again. "Oh my god, can you wait to see their faces when we go upstairs? Brendon's going to _cry_."

Gerard smiled uncertainly. "They're all... They're all going to be happy?"

"They're going to flip out," Frank promised. "Especially when we look like we were having sex."

Gerard's heart stuttered to a stop. "When we... Um. Are... Are we going to look like that?"

“Yeah,” said Frank, and grinned. “I mean, I hope we are.”

“Oh,” said Gerard faintly. “That’s… Awesome.” He leaned down and kissed Frank again.

There were little sparks dancing up and down Gerard’s spine every time he touched Frank’s bare skin, and he was a little worried that it was going to be over even faster than it had been with Cash, because this time it was _actually Frank_ , and Frank kept smiling. But where with Cash he’d been nearly paralyzed with terror in case Cash figured out that he didn’t know what he was doing, with Frank he couldn’t worry too much; Frank _knew_ Gerard wasn’t some kind of college sex god. And if Frank was having sex, it was just with Emily, so it couldn’t have been _that_ good anyway.

Frank made a noise and rolled, and Gerard squeaked and fell on his side, stuffed between Frank and the back of the couch. And then Frank, without much finesse, honestly, wriggled his hand down the front of Gerard’s jeans. “These are too tight,” said Frank firmly.

“It’s stylish!” Gerard objected, and then gasped, because Frank’s _hand_ was on his _dick_.

Gerard tried to stop his hips from snapping forward, but he was having trouble breathing and his brain had shorted out, it was just going _Frank Frank Frank Frank_ over and over and over again. He just had time to mumble “I’m… _Oh_ ,” and then he was coming, and he could feel it in his fucking toes, his head was tingling, and he almost knocked Frank off the couch by accident.

Frank, luckily, wasn’t very easily discouraged, and he was already looking breathless and wide-eyed. Their legs were all tangled together, and he was rubbing against Gerard’s leg, which didn’t seem fair, so as soon as Gerard could make his arms move again – it took a second, he was made of rubber or something all of a sudden – he wiggled underneath Frank and shoved his hand down Frank’s jeans. There was something to be said for loose jeans after all, apparently, because Gerard had no particular trouble getting his hand there, except for a brief moment of _holy shit I’m touching Frank_. He’d barely started to worry that maybe he wasn’t doing it quite right – what if Frank didn’t like the same things Gerard did? What if touching someone else wasn’t like touching himself? – before Frank made an _incredibly_ loud noise and flailed all over and collapsed on Gerard.

He was a lot heavier than he looked, and Gerard didn’t mind at all.

“Huh,” said Gerard after a minute.

Frank groaned and propped himself up on his hands. “You’re not gonna start talking about, like, Emily or anything, right? I’m gonna give you a list of shit to talk about during sex. It’s gonna start with how hot I am, and it’s gonna end with porn you watched and you want to try.”

Gerard giggled, which felt weird, being partly naked and underneath Frank and all. He pulled his hand out of Frank’s jeans and wiped it on the couch, since the couch couldn’t get much grosser. “I was gonna say that was a lot better that time, actually,” Gerard clarified. “Is that on the okay list?”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Frank agreed. He went limp again, smushing his face on Gerard’s neck. Gerard’s neck was getting a little wet where Frank was breathing.

“So,” said Gerard. “You’re my boyfriend now, right?”

“I’m your boyfriend forever,” Frank clarified, and bit him on the shoulder. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Gerard agreed, grinning. “Okay, awesome. Fantastic.”

It was. It was better than fantastic. It was perfect.

\\\\\

A kid in a hat knocked on the front door, and it took Brian almost a whole minute to place him as Mikey's-friend-Pete's-friend Patrick. "Um," said Patrick a couple of times, and then got a determined look on his face and said, "Is Mikey here?"

"Yeah," said Brian cautiously. The house was incredibly loud, and he wasn't sure exactly where Mikey was. More than that, he wasn't sure Mikey wanted to see Patrick. "Let me check and see if he's around."

"Sure," said Patrick, and put his hands in his pockets. Then he leaned sideways and frowned at Brian's car. Or—no—Brian realized. He was frowning at someone hiding _behind_ the car.

Brian went inside and found Mikey, sitting on the stairs with Alicia. He looked incredibly smug about something. "Patrick asked if you were around," said Brian. "Should I tell him to go away?"

"No," said Alicia immediately. She shoved Mikey with her elbow. "You're going to talk to them."

"I tried to talk to them," Mikey complained, but he stood up anyway. He and Alicia walked over to the door.

He stared at Patrick for a long minute, and Patrick stared back, and then finally Patrick sighed, "He's _sorry_ , okay?"

"Well, me too," said Mikey.

"Well then," said Patrick.

"Oh my god, go _talk to him_ ," said Alicia, and shoved Mikey out the door.

Brian wasn't much good at reading lips, which was unfortunate. Pete came bouncing out from behind the car and started gesticulating wildly at Mikey, who crossed his arms. There was some talking, and a lot of Patrick rolling his eyes and Alicia rolling her eyes. Eventually Mikey threw his hands up in the air and Pete threw his up, and they stood there looking at each other. Patrick gave Pete a little shove and Mikey held out his arm grudgingly, and they shook hands.

Then Pete launched himself at Mikey and hugged the shit out of him.

"Awww," said Greta. "That's cute! Are they friends again?"

"I guess so," said Brian. "I don't know. Have you seen Gerard?"

"Not since Frank got here." Greta waggled her eyebrows hilariously. "I have my fingers crossed, I can't believe Mikey invited him. What if they—"

"Don't jinx it," said Brian quickly. "Is dinner ready?"

"Just about," said Greta. She paused and smiled a little. "Your mom told me she was happy I was here."

"I don't know _why_ you won't _believe me_ —"

Greta waved her hands around a little bit. "I just want her to think I'm awesome. Just in case."

"Just in case of what?"

"Nothing, never mind," Greta sighed. She leaned in and kissed him. "Go get Mikey; we're eating soon."

She went off to round everyone else up, and Brian opened the door and shouted for Mikey. Mikey and Pete were still hugging in the middle of the lawn, and when Patrick finally pulled Pete away, it looked a lot like Pete was crying. He turned and hugged Alicia, and Alicia hugged him back, and then Alicia and Mikey came back in.

"So you guys are good?" asked Brian cautiously.

Mikey shrugged. "He's so dumb sometimes. He doesn't love Alicia anyway; he loves _Patrick_."

"Uh," said Brian. "Do you know where your brother is?"

Mikey's grin was quick and wicked. "He's in the basement with Frank. I was gonna lock the door, but I guess I didn't need to."

"He's—They're—What?" asked Brian.

Mikey looked so fucking smug it was almost unbelievable. "They've been in the basement for like an hour. I wouldn't go down there if I were you. I'm pretty sure they're not yelling at each other."

Brian just stared at him. "Seriously?" he asked, and he couldn't believe how much better it made him feel, even just the idea that the two of them might be friends again. "Mikey. You set that up?"

"I was tired of waiting," said Mikey. "Is it time to eat?"

"Yeah," said Brian. "Go help Ma set up the big table."

If Mikey had actually facilitated that somehow... Well. Brian was going to hug him, even though Mikey usually hated that. It was a huggy kind of day.

Mikey and Ray and Bob were setting up the table, and Ryan and Brendon were helping Spencer carry food out, and Jon was helping rearrange the furniture. Brian went over to the basement door. He didn't hear anything overtly strange happening, but he wasn't going to open the door and check, either. He banged the side of his fist on the door a couple of times and said, "Guys? Dinner!" and then figured if they didn't come back up, that was just about as good as if they did.

A couple of minutes later, though, the basement door opened, and Gerard and Frank came out. They were holding hands. Brian almost fell over. "Guys," he said, and then he couldn't think of anything else to say, so he said it again. " _Guys_."

Gerard had a dopey, almost-shy smile on his face, and his t-shirt was on backwards. Frank was beaming like he'd just figured out how to blow shit up using only his brain, and he kept glancing over at Gerard with a just-won-a-prize grin. "Hey," said Frank.

"Oh my god," said Brendon, walking into Brian's back. "Seriously? Oh my god. Oh my _god_!"

"I _know_ ," said Gerard.

There was an explosion of hugging—everyone in the house was suddenly right there in the room, yelling and cheering and Brian was pretty sure Brendon at least was getting teary-eyed. Gerard hugged Brian and then everyone, looking a little bashful about the whole thing, and ended up clinging a little bit to Mikey. Frank high-fived Ray and Bob and let Brendon hug him until Ryan dragged him off, and then went and got Gerard and put his arms a little possessively around Gerard's neck.

Greta was totally pretending she wasn't about to cry, but she and Brendon were holding hands and saying things in teary voices like, "I _knew_ it," and "Have you _ever_ seen anything _like_ it, I could _die._ "

Brian edged over to Gerard. "So you guys are... You worked it all out?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah," said Gerard, beaming. "We did. We are. It was really scary, but it turned out okay."

"You're gonna be cool about this, right?" asked Frank, frowning suddenly.

Brian decided the better part of valor was to _not_ burst out with "Since the day you two fucking _met_ I have been waiting for this." He shrugged instead. "No shit," he said. "Am I supposed to be surprised?"

"No," said Frank, and hugged him. Frank was a tiny, energetic hugger, and Brian appreciated that. "But if you cry I'm gonna make fun of you forever."

"I'm not crying!" Brian protested. "I'm happy you guys got your shit together, even if it did take _forever_."

"Shut up," said Gerard happily.

"Dinner!" yelled Jeanne. She looked a little choked up, but not too choked up to start pushing everyone toward the table. She leaned over to Brian and said, "Go get the nice candles."

"We don't have nice candles," he objected.

"I put them in your room so none of the boys would use them," she said. "I want to take pictures, and I want it to look like we are a family that has nice things."

"I don't know why you want to create false memories," Brian complained.

Greta jumped up. "I know where they are," she said. "Be right back."

"Brian," said his mom sternly.

He sighed and pushed his chair back in. "Fine," he said. "I'll go help."

Greta was already upstairs and in the bedroom, opening the drawers of a dresser he barely ever used. Some of her clothes were starting to accumulate in it, though, which was sort of nice. She had her own toothbrush in the bathroom, too.

"I saw her put them in one of these," said Greta, pulling open another drawer. "I thought it was this one?"

Brian was willing to bet his mom had put them in a bag and shoved it under the bed, because she hated clutter. "I've got it," he said, kneeling to grab it.

Greta gasped.

"What?" Brian asked, looking up. He dragged out a bag with all kinds of knickknacks in it that he knew he hadn't bought.

Greta was looking down at him with a totally stunned expression, that melted into embarrassment. "Oh," she said. "Nothing. I... Sorry, nothing." She laughed, and it sounded totally self-conscious. Shit, she was _blushing_.

"What?" Brian asked again. "Greta?" He pulled out the fancy candles and threw them on the bed, and then he stood up, brushing off his jeans.

"Oh, really, nothing," said Greta, giggling at herself a little bit. She put her hand in front of her mouth. "I just... Um. Ignore me, okay? I got kind of... Swept up."

"Swept up in what?" Brian asked. He grabbed her hand and squeezed a little.

She rolled her eyes and laughed embarrassedly again. "Just," she said. "You know, with Ryan last night and then Gerard and Frank downstairs, and this big family thing, I thought... I guess I... Just for a second, obviously, when you knelt..." She bit her lip. "I probably should have mentioned being a ridiculous romantic, huh? Whoops."

It took him a second, and then he got it, and he could _feel_ the stupid grin pushing at his face. "I hadn't really considered it," he said. "I was trying to respect the fact that you're really young, and maybe you didn't want to get roped in to my insane family."

Greta was blushing again. "No no, it's fine, I just—" she started.

"But if that's a thing we're doing," Brian said, and had to stop, because he was smiling too hard to talk. Greta giggled again like she didn't know what else to do. "You should have told me. I would have gotten a ring, done it right."

"You don't have to," she said, flapping her free hand, but she was beaming at him, and he felt warm all over, tingly, like he'd just run a marathon. "I'm not trying to rush you."

"I was trying not to rush _you_ ," Brian said. He took a deep breath and grinned at her. "Hey, Greta?"

Her eyes were huge. "Oh my god," she whispered.

He was going to burst, he was so fucking happy. The whole day was so _ridiculous_ , he didn't know what to do. "How about we get married?"

"Oh my god, _Brian_ ," she said, and flung her arms around his neck. She started crying again, too, but he didn't notice until she leaned up to kiss him, and she was laughing, so it was probably crying in a good way. "Yes," she said. "Yes, yes, yes, I _love_ your crazy family, and I love you."

"I love you, too," he said, and then, "Oh, thank god."

They were kissing again—she was crying, and he was still smiling, and it wasn't the greatest kiss ever but it was certainly the most fervent—which was why the, "Holy _shit_!" in the hallway came as such a surprise.

Brian jerked back, but he didn't let go of Greta, because he was feeling a tiny bit weak-kneed, and a lot like his bones were made out of jello.

Gerard was standing in the hallway, staring at them with giant eyes and a wide-open mouth. "Holy _shit!_ " he squeaked again.

"Uhhhh," said Brian. It suddenly occurred to him that he had to tell the kids about this, and who knew what the fuck they were going to say.

"Did you two just get _engaged_?" Gerard demanded.

Greta made a tiny, worried noise, and Brian hugged her. "Yeah," he said. Fuck it; they'd figure out how to explain it to the kids right now, apparently.

" _Awesome_ ," said Gerard. Then he turned around and shouted, " _Holy shit, you guys! Brian and Greta just got engaged!“_ and went running downstairs.

There was a roar from all the people in the living room. Greta laughed a little shakily and hid her face against Brian's chest. "Okay," she said. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it might be."

"Me, too," he said. "That was fine, actually."

"He sounded happy about it," she said. "And Mikey's been trying to match-make for ever, so... I think it's okay."

"It's great," said Brian. "It's amazing. It's wonderful. Just like you."

"Just like _you_ ," Greta said. "We should go downstairs before your whole family comes up to gawk."

" _Our_ family is just going to gawk downstairs," Brian pointed out.

Greta smiled at him. It felt like the sun rising. "Our family," she repeated, and giggled. "Okay, well, let them," she said. "There's enough happiness in the house to keep everyone distracted, I think. Should be an interesting Thanksgiving."

Brian kissed her again. "Should be an interesting future," he said, and they went downstairs.

  
THE END.


End file.
